


Once Bitten x Twice Shy

by girlskylark



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Aged-Up Gon Freecs/Killua Zoldyck, Alternate Universe - Creatures & Monsters, Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Alternate Universe - Witchcraft, Antagonist Hisoka, Chrollo/Kurapika content in Friendship Bracelets arc, Creepy Hisoka (Hunter X Hunter), Dark Magic, Demons, Denial of Feelings, Elemental Magic, Embarrassed Killua Zoldyck, Feelings Realization, Fluff, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Ghoul Hisoka, Ghouls, Hisoka wants to gobble Killua up omnomnom, M/M, Magic, Minor Hisoka POV, Minor Knuckle Bine/Uvogin, Minor Kurapika/Leorio Paladiknight, Monster Hunter Chrollo, Mutual Pining, Possessive Gon, Romantic Friendship, Running Away, Ultimate Fighting Championship, Vampire Hunter Chrollo, Vampire Kurapika, Vampires, Werewolf Biology, Werewolf Culture, Werewolf Gon, Werewolf Hunters, Werewolf Leorio, Werewolf Turning, Witch Killua, Witch Kurapika, Witches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-13
Updated: 2019-05-08
Packaged: 2020-01-12 18:34:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 96,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18452267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girlskylark/pseuds/girlskylark
Summary: Werewolf arc:It's been several years since Killua left Gon. After a vicious wolf attack and an equally awful fight between Killua and Gon, Gon hasn't recovered. In fact, the attack left him emotionally wounded and, more or less, a werewolf. Mortified that he's become the thing he hated most, Gon must cope with his nature as a carnivore. To do that, he needs Killua's help to acclimate him to the changes.Heaven's Arena arc:Killua's priorities have shifted with his newfound, unintentional crush on Gon. To compensate for it, he returns to Heaven's Arena to participate in demon pit fighting with hopes of funding his next attempt at light magic. All the while, Hisoka becomes a nuisance with a hidden agenda. With Hisoka as a constant threat on Killua life, will Gon and his accidental ragtag team of packmates be able to help Killua achieve light magic?Kurapika's arc:After inadvertently joining Gon's ragtag pack, Kurapika's own priorities have shifted. They had spent the past several years helping run Leorio's supernatural restaurant, but Hisoka's interference leads to a "chance" encounter with a dangerous, ancient species of demon that Kurapika never expected to meet, let alone fall for.





	1. 1 x homecoming

**T** he air off the coast was crisp and familiar against Killua’s skin. He was grateful to be out of the bustling city life, but only when he shut his mind off and closed his eyes against the breeze buffeting his hair. It combed through his hair and reassured him that he had an hour before touchdown, which meant an hour before his anxiety resurfaced tenfold and reminded him to be seasick.

When he opened his eyes, Whale Island was in view, its rolling peaks emerging from the horizon and the rising sun. The inky blue sky was beginning to seep with color, yellows and bright sky blues permeating the dark in stripes across the clouds. The salty sea air caught in the back of Killua’s throat.

He wondered what he would find there, but he was certain nothing—or rather,  _no one_ —was waiting for him. 

He blamed himself for that.

When the boat touched down at the concrete docking station, he mounted his motorcycle with one sweeping motion. The handlebars were broad, attached like antlers over the central headlight. With dawn still rising, he flicked on the light, secured his sleek white helmet, and revved the engine before gliding off of the ramp and down the concrete dock. The crashing waves faded away to the sound of the motor purring underneath him.

Once on land, he shot like a dart down the main streets of Whale Town and left dust in his wake across the gravel roads. By the time the plumes lifted into clouds, he was already long gone in the direction of the house he spent his childhood at. 

Killua never received letters. He never received messages of any kind, really, from Mito-san. He knew it was out of fear that he abandoned all form of communication during his failed endeavors, and now it was out of a sense of desperation that he went in search of Gon again. If Killua couldn’t accomplish the one thing he set out for, he would have to start from scratch and give in to societal expectations. He tried on his own, sure, but everything went back to Gon.

Because somewhere along the line, Killua took a terrible route. The sort of route witches get set on fire for. 

Killua’s bike skidded to a halt, the back end fishtailing to the left and leaving a hot rubber streak across the grass. He cut the engine in the process and swept off of it, keys twirling around his finger. When his feet touched down, he staggered to a halt, his eyes only visible through the open visor on his helmet. 

He trailed his attention across the state of the house, atop the tallest peak on Whale Island. From here he could see the town, the forests, the rolling hills. It looked as though Killua arrived after a godawful storm. 

The clothing line was in the dirt. The flowerbed was unmanaged and brown. The front door was open, just a crack.

“What the hell…” Killua whispered under his breath. Any louder and he might shout it and demand answers, but something told him no one was home.

Killua jogged to the front stoop. There was a gap in the doorframe where the wood had splintered off. The impact sent the splinters shooting outwards, as if someone and rammed their fist into it on the way out. Killua looked for burn marks and found none—it was the sort of damage that might have been caused by Gon, but he had only ever seen Gon in a rage like that when they last saw each other.

He didn’t think Gon was still capable of that kind of fury.

_This isn’t good_ , he thought, whatever anxiety he had now manifesting into a solid cold rock in his stomach.

Before pushing the door open, Killua pulled his leather gloves. It was almost tropical on Whale Island this time of the year, so there wasn’t a need for them, but he had spent a good portion of the year in borderline tundra weather. Leather gloves were an essential there. 

He placed a hand on the wood and gave it a gentle nudge. The door creaked open, and the sound sent a rolling shudder up his spine. He could feel the hairs on the back of his neck grazing his helmet as he stood, tense, at the threshold. 

His rucksack hung heavy off of his shoulder. He twisted it around to his front and yanked out a drawstring pouch. He had only used it once, but it cost too much to bother throwing away with the rest of his supplies that he cycled through. Sure, clearing out his rucksack was wasteful, but it was useful for travel at best. The weight of it and the amount of shit he accumulated over the years made it difficult to travel with excess. 

He shook the pouch to break up the powder inside. Once that was done, he laid a pinch of powder on his open palm. He said a silent prayer in hopes that it would work. 

And then, Killua blew the powder over the threshold.

An iridescent shine filled the space, coloring his vision like a film across his visor lens. It sparkled in the morning sunlight, turning almost opaque for a moment before settling. The solid clumps of it gathered in bright, blueish light. It was merely evidence of the fact that magic wasn’t used here.

Killua’s own sorcery had a bluish tint to it. It had grown lighter over the years, almost white, but that was just another reason his travels failed him. Magic of that color, if you had the eye to see it, was taboo across all magical disciplines—all except for the disciplines Killua was no longer interested in. It was because he dabbled in sects of dark magic ritualism that he was forever tainted by it.

He couldn’t climb out of that hole his family dug for him without finding a mentor willing to work in both light and dark magic.

Solid patches of light clung to the door and its frame, along with every piece of furniture that remained upturned and shattered. Killua stared at the staircase where the railing had been torn from the floorboards and thrown against the wall. The morning light cast long shadows edged with gold across the eerie scene.

Killua followed the tracks, the residue, the translucent scenes of markings and bare footprints across the floors—across the walls. 

_A monster, maybe? No, those are human_ , he thought to himself.  _Possession? Fuck, I’m not equipped for exorcism_ . He blamed all of the headmasters who turned him away for that one.

The ones who said he was more equipped to deal possession instead of an exorcism.

Killua climbed the staircase and searched the rooms, turning open each door as he went. The house was empty, though—the markings said it all. The glow said it had been a good two days since anyone had even  _been_ in the house. When he touched the ghost of a silhouette on Gon’s bed comforter, he read the evidence as it filtered through his fingertips and up his arm.

The evidence scraped its way along his bones like knives.

He jerked away, hissing at the sensation.

“Weird,” he said to himself, but what he really wanted to do was curse and throw colorful words around like someone clearly did with the furniture.

Killua scrambled back down the stairs in a flurry. He stormed out of the front door and followed the tracks off of the stoop, through the grass, and left the house behind. 

Gon was alive two days ago. 

Mito-san wasn’t in the house then. In fact, it had been a long while since Mito-san had even  _been_ there. The dust hadn’t even picked up a trace of her presence in the past week. 

Killua came to a halt at the cusp of the hill. 

The field below was smothered in the opaque color of his magic. The entire hillside was dense with it, as fresh as a day ago, perhaps even sooner. The sensation Killua had from touching Gon’s blankets was back the moment his combat boots touched the light. It crawled up through his entire being, shocking his hair straight on end. 

Killua yanked his helmet off, gasping at the sensation. His heart strained in his throat. 

_What the hell happened here?_ he thought.

 

* * *

 

It took hours to dissect the trails. 

It was certainly Gon, if the sensation had anything to do with it. But something was off—it wasn’t the same “essence” Killua was familiar with. 

Everyone had an essence. It was as unique as a fingerprint, a laugh, a personality. However, a person’s essence fluctuated with life. It was malleable, and it morphed to scenarios and situations that impact a person’s entire being. Some changes were small, and others were drastic. Killua had encountered drastic essential transitions before, but nothing like this. 

This went beyond possession, because a part of Gon was still there, and it wasn’t in hiding. He gathered that much.

It still didn’t explain Mito-san’s absence. It was almost as if she wasn’t even  _on_ Whale Island, and hadn’t been for a while.  _Where would she go, and why?_ he thought to himself as leaves crunched under his feet. 

He grimaced at the sound of a twig snapping. If he wanted to sneak up on whatever had taken hold of his friend, he’d have to move more quietly. The state of the forest didn’t help much, but he would have to make do. 

This trail was almost as fresh as the previous evening. 

Killua followed it as far as it would take him, but he didn’t quite make it that far before he was stopped by the distinct sound of—

_Sobbing?_

It was because he recognized that sound that he ever moved at all. The jolt in his chest kicked him back into motion, now running, through the trees. He leapt from the rocks and skidded down the break in the trees. The divot sent him flying forward, leaves kicking up in his wake. 

“Gon!” Killua shouted, but he regretted saying anything.

The sobbing immediately cut out.

The trail was out of view now. Killua’s shortcut put him completely outside of its range, but the reaction was clear the instant a bright flash of red swept across the horizon, zigzagging through the trees. The path was lighting up, flaring up in reaction to Killua’s voice. Killua bristled. He was glad he wasn’t touching the trail at that moment—he couldn’t imagine the sensation it would have cut up his spine, especially when the subdued trail was terrible enough.

The color condensed not far from him, hidden among the rocky outcropping. The moment Killua took a step towards it, he was met with a barrage of animalistic snarls. 

Sparks immediately shocked his fingers. His reaction sucked the magic from the dust, making it completely useless. He didn’t need the dust trail anymore, though, as he was certain that the sound would take him to Gon.

Electricity crackled up his arms as he approached the low snarls that ripped into full-blown, gravely growl. By the sound of it, some sort of beast the size of a bear was the owner. 

_I can take on a bear, right?_ he told himself, searching the rocks for fur of any kind. 

He focused in on the shadows.

As he approached, the glow from his sparks illuminated red splatters across the stone. He stared at it, his eyes wide, until his sparks pushed a shadow over it. He wouldn’t have looked down otherwise.

Tucked away among the gore, covered head-to-toe in it, sat Gon Freecs.

Killua’s mouth ran dry, and with it, the fuel for his spark’s rage. 

“Gon,” he whispered, voice gone. 

The growling cut off. The sneer on Gon’s face wavered, his lips trembling. Killua could hardly see his teeth beyond the dark stains across them. Without the light, he couldn’t see the color. The deer at Gon’s feet told him it was blood, though. 

Dirty tear tracks ran down Gon’s cheeks. The light that did reach him, though, caught on the water bubbling up around his lashes. 

“K-Killua—” Gon started, voice hoarse. 

Killua was shocked to hear anything from Gon. The state he found Gon in made him wonder if Gon was even capable of speech.

“What the fuck happened? Why are you—?” Killua started, taking a step.

A snarl ripped through Gon and it sounded like the goddamn engine on Killua’s motorcycle. He startled to a stop, arms out. He could see Gon’s chest vibrating with the sound, his shoulders heaving like the hackles on a dog. 

When Killua stopped, though, Gon was back, overwhelmed with gasping sobs. “D-Don’t come near me,” he panted, ducking his head. 

Dread turned Killua’s blood cold. He knew Gon wouldn’t say it, but he didn’t have to. 

Killua lowered himself down. The motion sent Gon snarling again until the instant Killua came to a stop, frozen on the ground at the edge of the gore. 

Gon sniffled miserably, folded over the deer. It was long into the morning now, and Killua wondered how old the deer’s corpse was. It smelled horrendous. Any seasoned werewolf would know that the meat would go bad soon, but…

Gon wasn’t a seasoned werewolf.

_How long?_ Killua wondered as Gon rubbed his hands over his eyes. Killua stared, trying his best to seem impassive, but the sheer state of Gon was enough to send his stomach roiling. 

“Finish it,” Killua said. 

He was met with more snarls intermittent with Gon seething out, “ _D-Don’t_ ,” as if Killua was going to take his prize, the prize he didn’t want.

_What a pitiful scenario for a vegetarian like Gon_ , Killua thought to himself as Gon reluctantly dug his claws between the ribs of the deer. His claws were extensions off of his nails, and with all of the research the two of them had done on werewolves, Killua knew that those claws wouldn’t go away until Gon’s hunger was satiated. 

Killua had to snap Gon out of this miserable state if he wanted to have a conversation with his best friend.

“Eat it  _now_ , Gon. You’ve already killed it, don’t waste it,” Killua hissed.

Gon threw a fit. It didn’t involve screaming, throwing fists, or anything of the sort. It was worse than that, and Killua felt sick just watching it, but he knew that if he turned away, Gon wouldn’t finish the deer off and they’d never get to talk about this, or any of it. Instead, Gon was overcome with hysterical snarling. Tears streamed down his face as he ripped into the deer and stuffed day-old meat between his vicious fangs. The sight of them, along with the shape of Gon’s jaw when he was in this state, was terrifying. 

Gon could tear Killua’s arm off, no problem. Gon would have no difficulty hinging onto the entirity of Killua’s bicep when he was in this state. It would be as easy as biting his own fingers off with regular human teeth.

As Gon ate, Killua’s mind raced. 

They would talk about Kite, he was sure of it, because there was no way his friend would willingly become a werewolf. Their only association with werewolves happened to be when they were fighting to find Kite. 

That was over three years ago, though. 

_What happened? Has he been like this for three years?_ he wondered to himself.

Gon’s claws began to recede, and when they did, his motivation to eat plummeted. He was satiated enough for his jaw to return to normal, and the ache from his sharpened teeth flattening caused Gon to let out a low, pained whine. He slapped his hand to his sticky, bloody cheek and pouted.

“Ay! That  _hurts!_ ” Gon moaned, hissing in agony. He opened his jaw wide until it clicked. Killua grimaced as Gon let out a sigh of relief. “That’s better.”

“How long have your fangs been out?” Killua asked. 

Gon stood, wavering a little. It was then that Killua noticed that Gon was  _abnormally thin_ . Gon opened his mouth wide and ran his tongue along his teeth. Killua blinked when he realized that Gon’s teeth hadn’t flattened out at all. They were still sharp. 

_Malnourished_ , he thought.

“I don’t know,” Gon said, voice muffled around his finger now examining his back molars. He flicked out what appeared to be a shred from a tendon. 

“When did this—?” Killua started, but Gon was already interrupting him, stepping idly over the corpse in favor of brushing his feet around a patch of flat dirt.

“Hold on. I need to bury this,” he said.

Killua sighed and stood up. If he didn’t help, it’d take ages for Gon to dig a hole the size of a deer on his own. 

“Let’s get a shovel then,” he sighed, preparing to head back to the house.

“I’m good,” Gon said, crouching down. He started to dig with his hands. 

_I am_ not _doing that_ , Killua thought to himself as he started back to the house. He’d grab a shovel for himself. 

When he returned, the hole was just wide enough to fit the upper lower of the deer. Killua set to work piercing the dirt with his shovel, slamming his boot down on the end, and yanking up the tiny roots from the grass. The soil ripped free, and he tossed it onto Gon’s pile. Gon was too preoccupied to seem to notice that Killua was back.

They worked until midday when Gon hoisted the deer up from the ground and laid it in the hole. By then, the tropical atmosphere on Whale Island was back tenfold. Killua was sweating through his sweater, so he pulled it off over his head and tied it around his waist. His white tank top was practically see-through now, but he didn’t mind. The breeze from the ocean felt cooler then.

“There,” Gon said, satisfied. 

Killua stared at him as Gon started to kick the dirt back into the hole.  _He really is a dog, huh?_ Killua thought as his brain juxtaposed this visual with an image of a dog burying a bone. 

Killua patted the dirt flat once all was said and done, and from there, they walked back to the house. He picked up his helmet and rucksack along the way and made a point to walk several paces away, fully aware of the fact that Gon’s claws were back.

_It must have taken him a lot to kill that deer._

_Or an episode of desperate madness. That would do the trick, too_ , he thought. 

At the front of the house, Gon sniffed himself and stuck his tongue out. “Bleh! I smell awful—how can you stand it?”

“My sense of smell is mediocre at best,” Killua said dully. 

Gon was waving his hands around like one might when trying to dispel body odor. He pranced around in search of the hose at the side of the house. He disappeared out of sight, so Killua took the opportunity to set his things by his motorcycle before following after Gon.

He heard the hose start up, pumping water up until it came bubbling out and spilling across the grass. When he turned the corner, he jumped at the sight of Gon thrusting the hose in his direction. 

“ _I’m_ not the one who smells!” Killua said.

“I know—you hold it,” Gon said. “I can’t go into the house like this.”

Killua stared at Gon from over the fountain bubbling between them.  _He doesn’t realize the house is a mess already_ , he thought. He swallowed hard and took the hose.  _It really was an episode of madness, then_ .

Killua turned the hose onto Gon. He pressed his finger over the opening so a harsh spray came out and shocked Gon into shrieking, throwing his bloody arms out to stop the barrage.

“S-Stop it! Killua! I-I’m serious—!” Gon gasped between fits of laughter, giggling as he turned his back on the hose and got a back full of cold water. 

He shrieked and ran around like a goddamn dog chasing its own tail as Killua turned the hose after him. Gon took off through the yard, bypassing the collapsed clothing line, and out of range. 

Killua lowered the hose, at which point, Gon perked up and came running back. 

“Okay, no running,” Gon promised.

“Fucking good,” Killua said, shooting the water straight back at Gon with just as much force as before.

Gon got a face-full of it, and then, a mouthful. 

Gon gargled it and spat pink water out onto the dead flowerbed. He rubbed his hands over his cheeks as Killua doused his face and hair with water. Gon snapped his teeth at the water, and Killua couldn’t help himself.

He started laughing. 

Killua doubled over, gasping, “Y-You look like a dog!”

“Do not!” Gon cried. 

They bickered, and as they did, the cold rock in Killua’s stomach lightened.  _This_ was how he felt before,  _this_ was what he came back for. It was the closest he ever came to feeling an ounce of what all of those headmasters looked for and couldn’t find. 

He was strong without Gon, but he never felt so light without him. 

Gon’s shirt was already in shreds, and when he ripped the rest of it from his body, the lightness in Killua’s chest vanished at once. Every rib was exposed, the skin taught. It warmed over his skinny stomach. All that time they spent training together—it was gone from Gon’s physique. 

Killua was right—Gon had been starving himself to keep from giving into his animalistic urges.

With all of their research came an impossible truth: That it was possible to turn regular humans into werewolves, and that knowledge of this was wiped from every database they could find. In other words, Killua had no knowledge of what Gon had gone through. 

He had nothing useful to offer.

A river of red, dirty water trickled through the grass and puddled around Gon. When the water began to run clear, Gon pulled the hose from Killua’s numb hands. 

“Where have you been all this time?” Gon asked, his voice quiet now that the hose was turned off. 

Gon looked up from the faucet. His golden eyes were dull now, heavy over the pockets of shadow under his eyes. Killua had ignored it until now, until he realized the severity of Gon’s physical and emotional state.

Killua swallowed hard.

_There’s nothing I could have done to change this_ , he told himself.  _Not back then, anyway_ .

“I don’t know,” he answered.

“I tried to find you,” Gon said. He clenched his mangled shirt between his hands, but kept his eyes on Killua’s.

“You did?” Killua said, but the words felt stupid and heavy on his tongue. The way Gon’s eyebrows puckered told him he shouldn’t have said it at all. Not knowing that Gon was following him was somehow worse for Gon. The alternative was that Killua knew and intentionally ignored the advances. The evidence that something was wrong.

It was easier for Gon to forget about someone if they intentionally snubbed him. Killua had done nothing of the sort.

_But I had_ , he thought. _I did this to stay away, maybe, but I never even imagined Gon would try to find me_ .

“When it started,” Gon said, voice tight in the back of his throat. He swallowed hard, shaking his head. “I didn’t know. I was fine for a year, so I tried to find you until I started to get sick. I thought it was food poisoning, or something, but…”

Killua’s mind put it together. He didn’t have to have knowledge of werewolf transitioning to figure it out. “Your stomach enzymes. They couldn’t process plant matter anymore,” he said.

“Mito-san was searching with me,” he explained. “I kept it hidden for a while, so when I told her I should go home and rest, I encouraged her to keep traveling and that… I was fine. I didn’t know what was happening, I couldn’t have imagined—”

Gon couldn’t finish. His knuckles were white, his claws ripping through the fabric. He took a deep, calming breath, and every one of his exposed ribs moved with it. “She doesn’t know,” he finished. 

Killua might not have been able to help back then, but his travels provided him with ample information to deal with it. 

“I think I might know someone who could help,” he said.

Gon looked up, a glint of color returning to his eyes in the form of hope. Killua prayed it was warranted. “Really?” Gon said.

Killua rubbed a hand over the back of his head and said, “Yeah, it’s in Yorknew.”

Gon’s expression withered. His shoulders slumped, and Killua couldn’t imagine why. They never had any issue with Yorknew, at least, not that Killua was aware of. Gon rubbed at his arm and sighed, “I don’t know if I can leave…”

_Oh_ .

“Well, I can’t bring the whole fucking place  _here_ , now can I?” Killua said. Gon grimaced. “I’ll stop you from eating little old ladies, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

A snarl rumbled in Gon’s chest. Killua bristled at the sound, and at the fact that Gon’s hair, however damp, started to stand on end. Gon slapped a hand over his sneer, trying to cut the growling out, and it sputtered until at last stopping. He was clutching at his mouth like his life depended on it—like  _Killua’s_ life depended on it.

Killua hadn’t realized he took a step back until Gon was apologizing.

“Ah! I’m sorry—I’m not used to—I don’t really talk to anyone anymore. I haven’t had a reason to…”

_Be territorial? Paranoid?_ Killua offered, but he couldn’t say them out loud without getting snarled at. 

“It’s fine,” he said instead. “Do you need, like… a muzzle or something?”

Gon’s entire face turned red, but thankfully, it wasn’t out of anger. “Sh-Shut up! I don’t need a muzzle— _you_ need a muzzle!”

Killua gasped out a startled laugh as Gon groaned and shoved past him. He stormed to the house, arms in the air. Killua shouted after him, “Maybe we’ll get you a leash!”

Gon turned on his heels and barked back, waving his fist, “I’ll kick your ass if you put a leash on me, Killua!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think :D I haven't written HxH before. The universe is kind of canon, kind of not? Nen isn't a thing though—I'm using a different system for the magic.


	2. 2 x homecoming

Gon’s expression said it all. He didn’t know that he had gone on a rampage, or that he had completely destroyed Mito-san’s house. 

Killua watched from the grass as Gon’s back muscles all but spasmed. He wondered if Gon could remember, just from seeing it, or if it was all entirely new to him. It was difficult to tell, especially considering so much time had passed. 

Gon’s fists clenched. A breeze buffeted Killua’s hair back from his face, and carried with it the sound of Gon whispering, “Maybe I do need a muzzle…”

Gon crossed the threshold. A moment later, Killua heard his steps hurry up the stairs. He waited a moment before entering the house himself.

Killua rubbed his gloved hands together and laid them over the splintered wood on the doorway. 

Physical magic wasn’t his forte. Where he excelled was in space and time, with electricity, with magnetic forces. Cleaning up Mito-san’s house, then, was not an act of light magic. Light magic would have gone a bit differently. Dark magic, however, secured the scene in a pocket of time that Killua could cycle back through like rewinding a clock.

In the time it took Gon to pack his things and finish cleaning up, Killua reversed the damage in the foyer and living room and was moving on to the kitchen. He couldn’t imagine what would go through Mito-san’s head if she came home to the sight of Gon gone and the place in a disarray.

The moldy food in the open refrigerator began to revert. They bubbled and withered, the frayed strands of fungi shrinking into nothing. Killua grimaced as the shape of a casserole came into view. It looked appetizing, but after seeing  _that?_

He’d never eat casserole again.

The sound of Gon gasping turned him back around.

Gon was at the top of the stairs, stance wide, arms out. He stared at the pristine state of the foyer before cruising down and running to the kitchen. Killua lowered his hands from the refrigerator just as the door slammed shut for the fifth time during that spell. As it seemed, Gon’s rampage led him to the refrigerator five times before he gave up on finding food suitable for a carnivore. 

“Amazing!” Gon cried, hands up. “Everything’s back to normal!”

“Yeah,” Killua said with a grimace. According to his mental timestamp on the reverse magic, the place hadn’t been “normal” for over half a year. “Are you ready to go?”

Gon gasped, jumping in place. “Oh! Yeah, I just wanted to check and make sure that you’re good to go. Are you hungry? Do we need to stop somewhere, or—”

_Going anywhere with Gon to get food seems like a bad idea_ , Killua thought. “I’m not hungry,” he said, which he regretted saying because it automatically translated to:  _I lost my appetite_ .

Gon withered, expression falling. His boney frame was covered with an oversized sweatshirt now, and if it weren’t for that, Killua was pretty sure he’d see Gon’s collarbone and shoulders protruding. 

Killua cleared his throat awkwardly. “Let’s go.”

They were out of the house and down the stoop when Gon fully registered the motorcycle waiting for them on the road. Gon let out a shriek and pointed to it, all but screaming in Killua’s ear, “You ride a  _motorcycle now?!_ ”

Killua flinched and rubbed a hand against his poor ear. “No need to rupture my ear drum over it! Fuck!” he said, muttering under his breath, “I got it after I left.”

“Wow!” Gon said as he ran up to it. He ran his hands along the handlebars, and as he did, he started sniffing the air. 

It wasn’t all that odd. Killua had seen Gon do it before. As kids, Gon had a stronger hold on elemental magic than Killua, and with it came an understanding for nature that pushed Gon to become vegetarian. Gon always had a place in nature that Killua never understood, but becoming a werewolf certainly threw Gon’s sense of self out of order. 

Gon scented the air as Killua slowed to a stop at his rucksack. He shrugged it onto his shoulders and picked up the helmet, at which point, he knocked his head straight into Gon’s.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he swore, staggering.

“Ow!” Gon cried, sticking his tongue out. “You made me bite my tongue.”

Killua stared at him, alarmed. “ _Me?_ Why are you sniffing me?”

“Because you smell different,” Gon whined, clamping his hands over his mouth and nose—a clear sign that the scent was  _terrible_ .

Killua’s expression soured. “Is it  _bad_ or something?” Killua hissed through clenched teeth. The question was weighted enough for Gon to shriek, registering the threat. 

“It’s fine! Just… different. I can’t describe it,” Gon said, dropping his fists to his sides. Killua didn’t miss the way Gon self-consciously ran his thumbs over his clawed nails. “Your motorcycle has the same smell,” Gon explained, and he had the audacity to  _blush_ . 

As if Killua wasn’t already flustered.  _What the hell does_ that _mean?_ Killua thought. He clamped his mouth shut. He didn’t want to know.

“Let’s just—get moving, you idiot,” Killua said and promptly thrust the helmet into Gon’s chest.

Killua mounted the bike and knocked the kickstand up. He gripped the handlebars as Gon stood slightly behind him, staring at the bike. Killua could see him in the rearview mirror, eyes wide and mouth gaping. It was hot as fuck out there under the sun, and Killua wanted to get to the docks just to cool off. 

He reached back and yanked Gon by the front of his sweatshirt. “Get  _on_ , idiot,” he said. 

Gon yelped, staggering forward. He jumped with one leg in the air, and maneuvered onto the bike. When he settled in, the bike barely shifted under his weight. Killua already thought it was odd how small Gon was, but on top of it, it seemed like his best friend hadn’t gained a single pound.

In fact, he probably lost all of them. 

Gon popped the helmet on his head before wrapping his arms around Killua’s midsection and shimmying a little against his back. “This is so exciting! You look so badass on a motorcycle.”

Killua floundered in horror. Heat shot up the back of his neck, electricity sparking at his fingertips against the rubber handlebars. “Shut up! You can’t just say shit like that,” Killua said. 

“When did you become  _badass?_ And I  _missed it!_ ” Gon exclaimed with a distressed groan. 

_This is why I can never go out in public with you!_ Killua’s mind screamed as he lurched the bike forward. It was enough to shut Gon up, though.

They zipped down the hill at the speed of a bullet. The bike flew with ease over the gravel, all but soaring over the rocks as they careened towards the ceiling. All the way, Gon screamed in his ear, but the wind carried the sound away where it collected with the cloud of dust in their wake. 

The sunlight glinted off of the water and over the forests as they ducked beneath the canopy of the trees. The wind pushed Killua’s hair back, his eyes squinting as he revved the engine and pushed it faster. The dotted light through the trees flashed over them as Gon lifted a hand up from Killua’s waist to hold it up against the air.

Killua saw through the rearview mirror as Gon’s fingers closed, cupping the wind in his grasp like he could hold onto it. Gon leant back, eyes closed, the wind sending his damp hair stick-straight back. In a moment of absolute madness, Gon put both of his hands in the air and pumped his fists up, howling victoriously like he did in the Republic of Padokea. 

The brightness in Killua’s chest manifested into a smile. He laughed to himself, his eyes back on the road. Gon’s shout carried across the forests and reminded him again of his resolve. 

Gon was the ticket, if this sensation was anything to go by.  _This_ was what he needed to build his magic from scratch.

 

* * *

 

Killua left the ferry ticket booth to join Gon on the concrete loading dock. Gon was perched on the back of the motorcycle, legs crossed. Killua sifted through his money before folding it up and stuffing it into his wallet. 

“I have enough to get us a place in Yorknew, but we might be in trouble after that. My buddy might be able to board us, though, so that’ll help,” Killua explained as he slipped the wallet into the pack pocket of his jeans. 

He untied the sweater from around his waist and stuffed it into his rucksack. It wasn’t until he finished that task that he met Gon’s eyes and saw what had made Gon so silent.

Gon’s eyes were wide, his pupils blown out wide despite the bright midday sun. His shoulders were tense, his hands clasped tightly around his ankles. All of his focus was honed in on the workers at the end of the docks.

If he were a cat, Killua was certain his tail would have been poised and flicking furiously.

_Werewolves don’t commonly hunt humans, though_ , Killua reminded himself. Therefore, Gon wasn’t on the hunt. 

He stood, waiting, as one of the dock workers started in their direction. The worker was in no way, shape, or form targeting them, but Killua’s eyes caught on Gon’s shoulders tensing, bunching up to his ears. 

The worker whistled carelessly until the moment Gon emitted a feral, borderline demonic growl when the man crossed paths with them. The guy was a good few paces away, though, but certainly close enough to hear it and run to avoid the threat. 

Killua jolted at the sound of it.

“Gon!” he cried, both furious and embarrassed with his friend. 

Gon ducked fast and lost his balance. When he blinked, the murderous look on his face vanished and he sneezed. 

“What the hell, Gon!” Killua cried, lashing out to slap his friend on the arm.

Gon rubbed his face against his arm and whined, “Ay! Don’t hit me, Killua!”

Killua muttered obscenities under his breath as he hesitated near the handlebars. He looked after the dock worker, and then to Gon, who scratched idly at his hair and offered a weak, apologetic smile. 

Killua sighed.  _This is gonna be harder than I thought_ , he realized. If Gon could barely stand the sight of dock workers, he couldn’t imagine the anxiety of taking him to a public place—

Or even the place he hoped would help Gon. It might just make things worse.

_We have to try_ , he told himself as he mounted the bike once more. 

They coasted up to the ferry where, upon arriving at the ramp, Killua held their tickets out and prayed to a higher power that Gon would keep himself in check. He could feel Gon’s arms tense around his midsection, and even the pierce of his claws between the fibers of his sweater. When the worker waved them along, Killua let out a sigh, and Gon let out a low, barely noticeable growl. The only reason Killua caught it was because his back was pressed up against Gon. There was no way to avoid that palpable vibration.

Once parked, Killua moved as if to stand, but Gon held on fast. If he wanted, he could have pried Gon off, but the fear of Gon’s sanity snapping kept him still. 

Gon’s grip didn’t loosen until the common on the boat stilled, and the ramp was pulled up from the docks. By then, they were one of three cars on the ferry, and everyone was accounted for. 

Gon loosened his grip. 

“Geez, what’s going through  _your_ head?” Killua huffed, brushing his hands over his sweater. A thread had come loose on it, and he sighed.  _I’ll have to buy a new one if I plan on traveling soon_ .

Gon laughed weakly, pulling his knees up to his chest. “Sorry. I can’t help it. It feels like…” When he couldn’t vocalize it, he wound up gesturing. He reached his hands out, clutched them, and yanked them to his chest. 

“Like they’re gonna take something from you,” Killua translated, twisting around in his seat to face Gon. He leant back against the handle bars, one foot touching the boat, and the other bent up against his knee.

Gon nodded, ducking his chin against his knees. 

“I don’t like feeling like that,” he said, shaking his head. “It feels like… acid in my chest. I haven’t felt that way since—”

“Since what?”

“Since you left.”

The breath left Killua’s lungs. He tensed, eyes poised on the way Gon looked at him. His brows were heavy over his sunken eyes, the color gone once more. Gon turned his cold eyes down once more. “Why did you leave?”

“ _Me?_ ” Killua repeated, indignant. Gon straightened a little to stare at him, and the sudden focus had Killua halting and questioning himself. He knew he was the one to leave, he knew that. All of the logic, all of the evidence, pointed to that. But he hoped that in some way, Gon knew why.

His shoulders slackened and he took to rubbing at the black gloves on his hands. 

“I… wanted to be better,” he said at last. It was partly correct, he wasn’t lying, but it was so much more than that. Gon accepted it, though, and that was that. 

“So where did you go?” Gon asked, head tipped to the side. 

“Everywhere,” Killua said, crossing his arms. He settled in for the long haul and began to explain, “I went to find someone who could teach me natural magic.  _Real_ magic, not the shit my family was into.”

“And?” Gon said, hopeful.

Killua shrugged. The disappointment from countless rejections felt more intense as he came close to saying it out loud. His throat threatened to close shut. Perhaps he’d be better off suffocating and dying instead of admitting his failures to Gon. 

“It… didn’t go so well,” he confessed, clearing his throat. “Most witch academies don’t accept students who have so much as  _touched_ the shit I’ve been into. Having that on your record… headmasters crack down on that shit. So I applied and never got past examinations.”

Gon frowned. “How many?”

“Seventeen,” he said.

Gon’s eyes flew wide open. Killua scowled at the deck, teeth ground shut as Gon gasped out, “You’re kidding! You aren’t… kidding. Why wouldn’t they accept you? You’re the best witch I’ve ever seen!”

Killua’s body turned white hot. He jolted at the sensation of sparks prickling his arms as he said, “Yeah right! Everything I know is just from our training and my family!”

“Isn’t that good enough?” Gon cried, throwing his arms up. “We should try again!”

“ _We?_ ” Killua repeated, unable to keep the venom out of his voice. “ _You’re_ the one who—”

Gon blinked owlishly at him.Killua shrunk back, seething internally. “It doesn’t matter. It won’t work anyway. I came here to start from scratch. I may not be able to exorcise my magic, but I’m hoping to rewire it, get rid of bad habits.”

“You shouldn’t have to change the way you use magic, though. It’s fine the way it is,” Gon said.

“ _No_ , Gon, it isn’t,” Killua stressed, furious with himself. He was furious that his family had screwed him over like this, made him useless to mainstream society by teaching him toxic magic. He had plenty of time to figure out why it left a bad taste in every headmaster’s mouth. “My magic is underground. Normal people don’t use magic the way I do. I can’t use it in public without witches running scared.”

“I’m not running scared,” Gon said. 

_Unbelievable_ , Killua seethed. “That’s because you’re stupid.”

“Maybe so!” Gon countered, leaning forward. 

“I forgot how much you piss me off sometimes, you know.”

“Do I really piss you off?”

Killua grumbled, disappointed that Gon could see how much of a lie that was. “You just  _irritate me_ sometimes, that’s all.”

Gon smiled wide, showing all of his sharp teeth. “I’m glad you haven’t changed much,” he said.

“Can’t say the same for you,” Killua said. “When I left you were human and now you’re a—”

Gon lunged up, shaking the bike underneath them. “I know what you’re gonna say, and I’m telling you right now—”

“ _Dog_ ,” Killua finished with a devilish snicker.

Gon lunged at him, screaming. Killua grabbed his outstretched hands and flung him to the side, but Gon refused to let go. Killua flew off of the bike with him, barreling into the deck.

He cursed as Gon stuck his feet into his gut and kicked hard, launching Killua several feet away. Killua skidded, gloved hands scraping across the wood as he gathered his bearings. Instincts sent a prickling sensation down his arms, trembling against his skin until the electric pulse surface in stripes of white light down his arms.

He watched the end of Gon’s backflip back into position. Gon’s bare feet skidded across the deck, one foot sweeping back until his balance was restored. It’d been  _years_ since he saw Gon like that. 

He missed sparing with him, back in the Republic.

Killua laughed as he straightened up. He threw his head back and laughed harder.

Before he could recover, Gon slammed into him hard enough to send them both skidding back. With his arms around Killua’s stomach, he heaved Killua off of the ground and threw him back to the motorcycle. Killua landed on all fours, scraping his hand across the ground to keep balance.

The instant he did, though, Gon was back, and the impact sent his back into the ground with enough force to knock the air out of him. 

Killua gasped, grunting as Gon shoved his fists against Killua’s shoulders to hold him down. The action was more aggressive than their bantering and play-fighting, and when he opened his eyes, he found that Gon’s attention was elsewhere, and not on the claws currently digging into Killua’s shoulders. 

Gon’s knees were tense, squeezing against Killua’s hips as Killua followed Gon’s gaze back. He tipped his head back to see that one of the workers had come out when he sparing started and was now standing a few paces away, prepared to intervene. 

_Oh_ .

Killua could hear the prelude to another one of Gon’s territorial episodes, even if the worker couldn’t. All the worker could see was Gon’s feral, slitted pupils zeroing in on his prey.

In a panic to dispel the tense situation, Killua cleared his throat and said, “We’re fine.” He added a meager wave from his position, pinned to the deck.

The moment the worker walked off, albeit hesitantly, Killua used his raised hand to smack Gon upside the head. The snarling stopped immediately, and Gon sat back to rub at his head. Killua silently thanked the fact that Gon wasn’t inclined to attack  _him_ as much as he was inclined to attack strangers.

“You just proved my point,” Killua said, sliding out from under Gon. He swung up to his feet and returned to the motorcycle.


	3. 3 x packmates

They reached Yorknew as the light was fading. From the docks, it was a short jaunt north by vehicle, and judging the bizarre hours of the establishment, Killua was certain that they would have free rein upon arrival. It wouldn’t be long, though, before they would have to deal with the weekend street traffic, which was bound to be an issue. 

Killua steeled himself for it. 

The streets of Yorknew set a slower pace, one that provided ample time for sightseeing. The nightlife was just kicking into motion, filling the air with brilliant neon lights and music. They could hear it echoing from blocks away, though Killua could only imagine the cacophony it was to Gon, who had gone quiet behind him. He kept his focus on the strength of Gon’s embrace, which tensed around him, cautious trepidation in pursuit.

Killua turned them down a quieter street, illuminated by red and blue neon signs. They passed a theater with a marquee, its brilliant white glow catching on the empty parking spot Killua brought the bike to a rest at. 

He put the kickstand out and stood. Gon was frozen behind him. 

Killua turned to look at the state his friend was in. He was trembling, eyes all but black, engulfed by his blown-out pupils. Killua took a deep breath and reassured himself that he had, in fact, seen his friend in a worse state. At least now, Killua didn’t feel helpless. 

Killua reached forward, slowly, and pinched the fabric of Gon’s sweater. Gon jolted as if struck, looking around—perhaps at the sound of the walking signal a block away, or maybe the shouting going on three streets over, Killua would never know. Gon’s mind, though, was everywhere his ears were, which meant that his body reacted on autopilot to the pull of Killua’s hand and urged him to get off of the bike and step forward. 

They left the helmet on Gon—though earplugs would have been better—and went to the glow of the marquee sign and the blinking red lights rotating around it. 

As they stood beneath the marquee’s shadow, the line at the ticket booth began to diminish. It didn’t seem to occur to Gon that they were in line for a movie until the moment they approached the window speaker. Killua passed the fair to the woman behind the glass and said, “Two for Paladiknight.”

The woman tore two tickets off of the roll and slid them across the counter and through the gap in the glass. Gon stared at them as Killua picked them up and passed one to Gon. 

“We’re… going to the movies?” Gon said, voice wary as he raised an eyebrow up at the marquee before Killua coaxed him along through the doors. 

Gon stumbled ahead, his eyes focused on the doors as Killua pushed them open and led the way through. With their rucksacks over their shoulders, they stepped over seventies-printed carpeting and past the concessions stands. Gon plucked the helmet off of his head now that the city noise was, however slightly, muffled. 

The salty, buttery smell of fresh popcorn blanketed them as they continued on to the far end of the theatre, just before the corridors that stretched to the screening rooms. There, a stocky man in a suit waited at a podium, tearing tickets and directing people to their theatre numbers. 

The guy’s hair was the size of the moon, and just as Gon looked ready to flee, Killua raised a hand to the guy. 

“Hey Knuckle,” Killua said.

The worker clasped on to Killua’s raised hand and reeled him in for a half-hug. “If it isn’t Killua! Nice to see you around,” the guy said. His aggressive, powerful voice stamping any effort Gon might have made to fight him.

When the guy’s sights turned onto Gon, Gon leapt, his back stick-straight and eyes focused solely on the threat at hand: The guy named…  _Knuckle?_

Killua let Knuckle tear his ticket before the guy reached a hand out to Gon. Gon took a step back, shaking from head to toe. Gon glanced over at Killua, and it was a look Killua had never seen on his friend’s face. Even in adversity, Gon managed to be an optimistic little shit. 

“This is my buddy Knuckle. Knuckle, meet Gon,” Killua said, slowly, waiting for the aggression to come back to Gon’s face. He preferred that over whatever look his friend was pulling now.

Gon swallowed hard, his hair standing on end. His clawed fists were clenched tightly at his sides, half-raised. The ticket in his hand was probably powder now.

Knuckle retracted his hand with a hum of realization. He put his hands on his hips and said, “Ah, you’ve told me about this one. You never mentioned he was my kind of guy.”

_Werewolf_ .

The word was too obvious to ignore, and the realization that crossed Gon’s face was just as plain. Killua had hoped it would be enough to calm Gon down, but instead, the tension tripled. The helmet fell from Gon’s grasp. 

Goosebumps traveled up Killua’s arms at the sound Gon made, his expression twisting between outright rage and the fear on his face from before, before he knew Knuckle was one of his own. 

_Idiot! You’re making a fool of yourself!_ Killua wanted to scream, every muscle in his body tight.

Somehow, though, Knuckle managed to laugh.

Killua turned a startled look onto Knuckle, because  _who the hell could take Gon seriously?_ Knuckle stepped towards Gon as Gon went into a fit, throwing his clawed hands out to stop Knuckle from getting any closer. The snarling increased until Knuckle slapped his hand down on top of Gon’s head.

Everything nullified.

Knuckle rubbed Gon’s fluffed-up hair with another, hearty laugh. “Wow! I can’t remember the last time I met a lone wolf! You forget how spooked they get,” he said, looking to Killua. He pointed eagerly to Gon, as if showing off a prize. 

Killua’s jaw dropped, stance wide, his shock entirely palpable in the spark that leapt off of his finger.  _How the hell did he get Gon to chill out like that?_ Killua thought, stunned.

Gon’s shock dissipated the longer Knuckle ruffled his hair. Knuckle scratched him behind the ear, and Gon jumped, yelping out, “Hey! Stop that!” 

He batted Knuckle off of him. Steaming, Gon swiped the helmet off of the ground. Knuckle stepped away, slapping a hand to his stomach as he laughed again. “Classic! Well, you two have fun. Theatre five,” he said, jabbing his thumb in the direction of the corridor ahead. “Now  _get_ —I have customers coming in.”

Gon continued to stare at Knuckle long after they passed the corridor threshold, and therefore, left the ticket-master podium behind. Killua dragged him along with a hand clasped to his wrist, but there was resistance.  _Boy_ , was there resistance. Gon’s eyes didn’t leave Knuckle’s back until they were at theatre five and entering a dark hallway.

Killua never had an issue in the dark, and now, neither did Gon. The light above the door at the end of the hall drew near, at which point, Gon had collected himself enough to ask, “Something’s different about Knuckle.”

“Hm, well, you could’ve just asked him,” Killua said.

Gon shook his head as they arrived at the door. “I don’t think so. When he pat my head, I just sort of… my brain just flew away from me. I don’t think I could have asked him anything in that moment.”

“Maybe you’ll actually be  _sane_ the next time you talk to him,” Killua said, sticking his tongue out at Gon. 

Gon gawked at him as he made his getaway through the theatre door. He knew what Gon was expecting behind that door, so he snickered in satisfaction as Gon tripped chasing after him down the steep set of stairs leading beneath the theatre. Gon scrambled to catch himself against the railing, cursing as Killua swept around the corner and down the next flight. 

Gon chased after him, voice shrill, “I  _am_ sane!” only to be met with Killua’s laughter as they delved deeper beneath the city.

When at last they arrived on flat ground, they were deposited in a narrow hallway glowing under black lights. Killua’s white tank top glowed along with his white hair, and the helmet in Gon’s hands shined like a goddamn star as they walked along the purple hallway. 

The chatter from the next room grew in volume until they were one with it, the atmosphere shifting in pace with it. The corridor opened up into a large atrium divided by wide steps divvying up the landscape into a variety of platforms. Each was divided by walls and curtains, arced around the main event: The bar that stretched down the length of the restaurant. 

Killua took in the sight with a sense of nostalgia. He put his hands on his hips and turned to Gon, who was rendered speechless by the population of people occupying the space. Given Killua’s knowledge of the place, he could only imagine the  _smell_ . If Killua smelled odd to Gon, then every species under this roof was likely a nose-full for Gon.

Because of this, he took his time. He would have waited longer if they weren’t already spotted. 

“Killua!” that cheeky bastard screamed from the bar. 

Killua sighed and raised a hand to wave, but the bastard was already lunging over the countertop, ignoring the customer who laughed in alarm at the foot she almost got to the face. That cheeky bastard had too long of legs to fling them around like that.

Leorio Paladiknight, the star of the show, came vaulting across the restaurant, taking each platform two-strides at a time before at last jumping the divider that separated newcomers from the expanse of the restaurant. His glasses were in a disarray by the time he made it to them. 

He skidded to a halt, though, at the fierce, sharp-toothed sneer Gon sent his way. Gon stepped in front of Killua, his arms out. He held the helmet out in front, as if preparing to whip Leorio upside the head with it. 

Leorio raised his hands in surrender, laughing nervously, “Easy there, kiddo. Friend of a friend. Isn’t Knuckle out there?”

“Yeah, he greeted us.”

“Then… what’s your friend’s deal?” Leorio said, pointing a finger at Gon’s spiked-up hair.

“My  _deal_ is that you’re  _too close_ ,” Gon hissed, and the venom in his voice caused a sweat to break out on Leorio’s brow. 

Killua grimaced. He raised his hands up and dropped them  _hard_ onto Gon’s shoulders. Gon jolted at the touch, and Leorio looked beyond nervous. Killua leant forward to hiss in Gon’s ear, “Gon, could you calm down for a hot second? Please?”

The tension faded for as long as it took for Leorio to relax, and then it was back, and it was growling again. Killua forcefully moved Gon off to the side at that point and held him there as Leorio scratched the back of his head, evaluating the situation. 

“Has your friend eaten recently?” Leorio asked. 

“Yeah, but I don’t think it was enough,” Killua confessed. 

“Ah, well, I can help with that, at least,” Leorio said. “You can help yourself to the back room. I’ll put in an order for your friend.”

Killua nodded, only to hesitate when he realized what that meant. He knew what the werewolves around Yorknew ate, and what it looked like. Gon would take one look at it and combust like he did when Killua forced him to eat before.

“Wait, Leorio,” he said, reaching out to stop him. He jerked an arm out just in time to stop Gon from cutting between them. 

Leorio looked down at him patiently. Killua swallowed hard. “Are you able to… make it  _not_ look like its origin?” he asked. 

Leorio raised an eyebrow at him, and then at Gon. It took a moment for the order to process, at which point Leorio smirked and jabbed a thumb at his chest and said, “Who do you think I am, eh? I’ll make you the best, ambiguous-looking dish of the century!”

Killua let out a breath of relief as Leorio stomped off with vigor. They watched Leorio’s descent to the kitchen, though Killua was certain that it was for two entirely different reasons. For him, he was merely amused by his old friend’s attitude, but as for Gon… 

Gon let out a huff, shaking with something akin to anger. Killua sent a silent thank you to Leorio for promising the back room for them, because Killua was certain that Gon would exhaust himself with this level of paranoia otherwise. 

Killua led the way across the restaurant to the room far from the kitchen, and from the commotion of the tables that were filling up fast as the clock ticked closer and closer to ten in the evening. Killua checked his phone as they passed through the beaded curtain and to the nearest empty, cushioned booth table. The lights were dimmed further back here, and the velvet seats softer. There was no music, and the conversation was all but nonexistent. 

Killua wasn’t bothered, considering the entire place was empty except for the small cocktail bar at the end of the space. 

As he went to sit down, Gon squeezed in next to him. Killua shivered as Gon pressed up against him, as if there wasn’t an entire other side to the table.

“What the hell are you doing?” Killua said. 

Gon’s shoulders bunched up and he whined, “Keeping an eye out!”

“Can’t you do that from the  _other_ side of the table?” Killua hissed. Gon pouted at him, and they stared each other down until they were interrupted by a familiar face leaning up against the table. 

The snarl on the edge of Gon’s throat vanished when he caught sight of the person watching over them. 

“Killua, you’ve brought a friend,” Kurapika said.

Kurapika was the one and only reason Killua ever found Paladiknight’s establishment in the first place, and was probably the only reason he  _kept_ coming. Unlike Leorio, Kurapika was levelheaded.

And not obnoxious.

He got enough of that from Gon. 

Gon scented the air before coming to the conclusion, “You smell like Killua.”

Kurapika furrowed their brow at Gon. “It’s bad manners to scent non-werewolves,” they said, dully. 

Gon had the good sense to duck his head in embarrassment. Killua raised an eyebrow at Kurapika, who was now studying Gon as they slid into the booth across from them. The earrings on Kurapika’s ears glinted scarlet in the candlelight as they said, “Considering you never mentioned Gon being a werewolf, I’d say this is a new development.”

“How did you—?” Gon started, eyes wide. 

“Call it simple deduction,” Kurapika said, propping their elbow up on the table. They settled their chin on their hand and said, “Killua doesn’t have many friends, and the only one he’s ever brought around here is you, and since he’s told us all about you, it makes sense that he’d only  _bring_ you. But I have to say, the very obvious werewolf bit threw me for a loop or two.”

“Wow,” Gon said, amazed.

“You never cease to annoy me,” Killua said. 

Kurapika let out a light huff of amusement. They sat back and folded their arms. “I take it that’s why you’re here at all. Unless…?”

“No. No progress on that front,” Killua said, shaking his head.

“What front?” Gon asked.

“Getting into an academy,” he explained, glancing sparingly at Gon. “Gon, this is Kurapika. I met them in Lusko, who I was visiting the province’s academy.”

“I gave him a tour of the academy, before the examination,” Kurapika explained. “I’m not sure we would have ever met if it was after the examination.”

“Yeah,” Killua agreed.

“So you’re a witch, then?” Gon asked.

Kurapika nodded. “I am.”

“Then why do you smell odd?” he asked, only to blush when that same look of contempt returned to Kurapika’s expression. “I-I mean, Killua’s scent is on you, but  _your_ scent—it’s different. I can’t describe it. It… reminds me of slate.”

Kurapika blinked several times at Gon before turning to Killua and saying, “I believe your friend just called me a rock.”

Gon shrieked in horror. “No! I mean—it isn’t  _bad!_ It’s a good smell, there are worse smells—”

“I’ll take your ignorance as your apology,” Kurapika said. 

Gon folded forward, thumping his forehead on his hands that laid flat on the table. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to offend you!”

“So if you were not a werewolf when I met Killua, why are you one now?” Kurapika asked, and they raised an eyebrow when Gon’s eyes shot up to meet theirs. 

Gon floundered for a moment before shaking his head. “I-I don’t know. I don’t know how it happened.”

“But you know  _when_ , perhaps?” Kurapika pressed.

Gon said nothing. His hands clenched into fists, quaking on the tabletop.

Kurapika sighed and turned to Killua. “Well, it  _is_ nice to see you again. Have you begun your training?”

“Not yet,” Killua said. “I have other things to take care of first.”  _Namely, Gon_ .

“Ah, well, if you require assistance, you’ll find me here,” Kurapika said, gesturing to the table and the restaurant as a whole. They propped a hand on their hip as they leant forward to say, “I take it you’ve run into Leorio already, or do you need me to place an order for this one?”

They pointed to Gon, who’s eye twitched irritably, claws clicking on the table. 

“Leorio’s got it covered,” Killua promised. “But… perhaps  _don’t_ send a wolf out to deliver.”

“I’ll let him know and bring it myself,” Kurapika offered. Killua nodded, and with that, Kurapika walked off back to the restaurant. 

Kurapika might not have been a waiter at Leorio’s establishment, but their loyal attachment to the place warranted some form of trust on Leorio’s part. Kurapika was valuable to the restaurant, if only for the connections they had. 

Killua reclined back in the booth, letting his rucksack fall to the wayside. He kicked his feet up on the table next to the candle. Beside him, Gon took to picking at his claws. Killua watched him out of the corner of his eye, and he told himself it was because he hadn’t seen Gon in years. 

It  _wasn’t_ because he was paranoid.

That, apparently, was Gon’s job now.

“Kurapika…” Gon started, slowly. Killua raised an eyebrow. “They seem… nice.”

“Yes.”

“They said they’d help you with your magic,” Gon said, suddenly eager. “That’s great!”

Killua sighed, and it had Gon faltering. “I have to start from square one, and Kurapika can’t revert my magic. Once I have the foundation, I might go to them.”

“What’s the difference between…  _your_ magic and the magic you want?” 

“The magic I need for academy is… it’s  _natural_ . It comes from the earth. I never made that connection—it’s the connection you made with your magic. It’s what connects you to the energy around you,” Killua explained, looking up to the ceiling. “I’ve never…  _felt_ that connection to other life forces. My connection is the space between them, I suppose, and places our life forces aren’t supposed to go. Time and space, conceptual, abstract. For academy, I need  _concrete_ matter.”

“But why are all of them so against it? Kurapika seemed fine with it.”

“Because  _my_ kind of magic is used more destructively than for good. Having the ability to warp time and space? It’s dangerous,” Killua explained. “It gives an unfair advantage if you know how to use it properly.”  _Or “who” to use properly_ .

Gon slumped a little. He had seen Killua’s magic at work, and he had witnessed it in tandem with his own. Killua had always been cautious about how he applied his magic, and therefore, kept the gruesome details aside. He couldn’t use his powers in the same way his family did, not anymore.

Not if he wanted to retain a shred of his sanity.

It was then that Kurapika returned, only, this time, they came with Leorio on their heels. Killua only noticed them then because Gon’s body had seized up, and he had been watching Gon through their entire exchange. 

Leorio let out a maniacal laugh, and Killua gritted his teeth, thinking,  _Anyone’s gonna think you’re suspicious if you make an entrance like that!_ In that moment, he didn’t blame Gon for acting out. 

However, Gon’s overreaction was still overkill.

“We’ve brought the delectables!” Leorio boasted, hands on his hips. 

“Please, never say that again,” Kurapika sighed. They slid the plate onto the table in front of Gon, who was clutching the edge of the table so tightly that it shook. Kurapika pointed to his claws and said, “Don’t rip the seat canvas, that shit’s expensive.”

“I’ll rip his face off if he doesn’t  _back off_ ,” Gon snarled at Leorio, who whistled low and still managed to look cocky when Killua knew for a fact that he was pissing his pants.

“I’ll just… catch up with you later, Killua. And… maybe convince Knuckle to take a break and hang with you guys,” Leorio said as he slowly backed away and booked it out of the room.

Gon was on his feet by then, and after a few seconds, sat back down. His hair seemed to deflate along with his anger.

The food on the plate  _looked_ like an average pasta dish. The noodles were darker, not unlike whole wheat pasta. Killua couldn’t help but wonder if sticking them in the back room had the added effect of a darker venue so Gon couldn’t entirely tell  _what_ the noodles were made of. He glanced at Kurapika, though, and Kurapika watched with that same stoic expression, their eyes hidden in the shadows of their bangs.

However, given the venue, Gon had the decent sense to ask, “So… is this place only for supernaturals? What’s with the theatre front?”

“We’re under the radar because most of what is serve isn’t… FDA approved, so to speak,” Kurapika explained. “The menu caters most supernaturals in some way. We use the theatre front to protect our customers, mostly. To keep humans from suspecting, or from targeting certain areas that are frequented by supernaturals. Not all humans are understanding of our establishment.”

Gon hummed as he took up the roll of utensils Kurapika left him. He unfolded the napkin and began to eat with the fork. Killua watched with bated breath until Gon hummed in satisfaction. Gon continued to eat. 

“This is  _really_ good. Lately, anything that isn’t meat tastes  _awful_ ,” Gon said, his mouth full of noodles. Killua grimaced, eyeing Kurapika, who maintained a stoic facade as Gon added, holding the fork to his lips, “But perhaps that’s just because I only throw up food that isn’t meat.”

“Gon,” Kurapika said. Gon paused, eyes returning their attention to Kurapika. “You won’t ever be able to eat plant-based food again. Do you understand?”

Gon tensed, his fingers tight around the fork. Killua watched as Gon lowered the fork to the plate, his eyes wavering between Kurapika and the pasta in front of him. Killua drifted his eyes from the plate to Kurapika, because the pasta, to him, was so clearly meat that it baffled him that Gon couldn’t see it. 

“You can’t keep your fangs and claws out twenty-four seven,” Kurapika told him. Gon’s fists clenched tighter on either side of the plate. “I understand that you were once vegetarian—”

“ _I am_ ,” Gon hissed.

“Only humans choose to be vegetarian voluntarily,” Kurapika said. Their voice took on a stern, almost scorning edge. Gon grimaced at the words. “You are not human anymore, Gon. Vegetarians remove themselves from the pinnacle of the food chain— _you_ are a part of it. I won’t tamper with your mind again. Next time, you’ll see the food we give you for what it is.”

Kurapika’s words left Killua feeling hollow. He would never understand Gon’s dedication to it, not in the intrinsic way Gon positioned himself in nature. Still, he couldn’t help but pity the ache in Gon’s expression as they watched him stare at the food on his plate and wonder what it  _actually_ looked like. 

“You should talk to Knuckle about this,” Kurapika suggested. “And also consider joining an actual pack. You won’t make it on your own, Gon. Killua isn’t a wolf like you.”

“What do you mean?” Killua asked. He wasn’t a werewolf, that much was certain, but “an actual pack” suggested that Gon had one already. 

“Gon’s reaction to Leorio tipped him off,” Kurapika explained. “But since you aren’t a wolf, Gon’s instincts tell him to protect you. You’re his friend, and therefore a member of his pack. But as a non-wolf, he believes you can’t protect yourself.”

“He can,” Gon insisted, voice weak. He didn’t sound too convinced himself, and it was enough to remind Killua how much the transition had changed Gon. Before, Gon had been fully accepting of Killua’s ability to defend himself.

“He can,” Kurapika agreed, “but your hunger is blindsiding you. I would test this theory, but I don’t want to lose my hand.”

_They mean to attempt to take the food away_ , Killua realized, his eyes now falling to where Gon’s hands were still poised on either side of the plate. He had thought it was out of disgust and rage, and perhaps that was the case, but it was also now in Gon’s nature to protect his food when his body demanded more nourishment. 

“Talk to Knuckle,” Kurapika repeated before rising.

“Kurapika,” Killua started, “do you have a free room at your place? Gon and I haven’t made plans—I figured I’d ask you first.”

“Of course,” they said, a small smile rising. “You know I always have extra room. Come see me when you’re done. I believe Leorio’s fixing you something to eat in the meantime.”

Killua nodded his thanks, and with that, Kurapika left them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just finished watching all of the HxH episodes this morning I'M SOBBING LEORIO WAS SO CHAOTIC DURING THAT WHOLE SEASON I laughed out loud more than once. WHAT'S THE AGE-RANGE FOR THIS SHOW ANYWAY?!?!
> 
> Now all I gotta do is watch the movie :O


	4. 4 x packmates

Knuckle walked them up the stairwell back to the surface. Gon walked beside him, and Killua watched from several steps below as Knuckle idly patted Gon’s head like he was a fucking dog. Killua was focused on his phone, and a message Kurapika had left him, but as they turned the corner, he looked up and snickered. From there, he could see Gon’s look of total admiration staring up at Knuckle.

“I’m surprised you’re a lone wolf at all, buddy. You don’t have the right vibe about you for that shit. It almost pisses me off, you know? You’ve gotta have guys who are willing to beat people up for you.”

“Yeah…” Gon hummed, fascinated. “How do you… get a pack?”

“Everyone has a pack, but this is a matter of wolves versus humans. Right now it looks like you’ve just got your friend Killua. And, if you can, finding an alpha to integrate you is better than nothing at all. Most lone wolves are lone wolves for a reason, you gotta remember that.”

“An alpha?” Gon repeated.

“Yeah, someone charismatic, tough, empathetic. Alphas calm other werewolves down. Usually it’s innate—it’s not something you can manufacture,” Knuckle explained, ruffling his hands through Gon’s hair as they arrived at the final platform before the exit. Gon stared up at Knuckle, eyes glittering, and Killua raised an eyebrow at the both of them until Knuckle gasped in alarm. 

Knuckle pointed a finger to himself and cried, “That’s me! Shit, I keep forgetting! Dude, you should join my pack!”

Gon’s entire face lit up. “You’re an alpha! I never would have known!”

_Idiots_ , Killua thought.

Knuckle recovered enough to puff out his chest and thump his fist on it, “My old man passed the position onto me. It’s a recent thing, so don’t blame me for forgetting it sometimes.”

“Wow! What do we do now?” Gon asked. He had his hands clasped in front of him, and despite the food in his system, his fangs were still prevalent. As for his claws, though, they were faded to a degree.

“I gotta introduce you to the pack. Ah, I’ll set up something, don’t you worry about it. Come see me tomorrow and I’ll have a better idea of what this all entails,” Knuckle said as he continued up the final flight of stairs. As he pushed open the door, he added, “But the thing is, even my old man didn’t bother with lone wolves. Only one member of our pack was integrated to the pack. It’s an odd occurrence.”

“Why’s that?”

“Lone wolves do it because they don’t get along with packs. Other times, they’re kicked out of packs and are in search of another. But it makes you wonder why they were kicked out in the first place,” Knuckle said, and at this, he stilled at the corridor threshold and turned threateningly onto Gon, pointing a finger at his forehead. “You weren’t kicked out of a pack, were you, runt?”

“No, I don’t think so,” Gon squeaked. “This is all new to me. I’ve only been a wolf for a little while!”

“What do you mean by that, eh?” Knuckle said, and the threat had Gon’s hair standing on end again. 

Gon was rendered speechless, and Killua couldn’t get why. It must have been a wolf thing, so he intervened, slapping his hand onto Gon’s shoulder to chill him out. “Gon was turned a few years back. It took a while for the chemistry in his body to catch up.”

“Turned?” Knuckle repeated, skeptical. Gon nodded fast, suddenly desperate to be on Knuckle’s good side again. Knuckle stroked his chin and hummed, “Weird… Can’t say I’ve heard of that, but I’ll take it. You’ve got spunk, kid, we could use that in our pack.”

“Really?!” Gon cried.

“Absolutely,” Knuckle said with yet another hearty laugh. He swung his arms when he strode down the corridor, covering the floor in a matter of seconds. Killua and Gon jogged to catch up.

Knuckle left them at the ticket podium. Gon waved eagerly as they stepped away, and Killua dragged him along to keep them in motion, otherwise he was certain they would have been standing there waving until the end of time. He pushed Gon by the shoulders out through the front doors of the theatre and into the cool evening air of the city life.

Whatever calming effect Knuckle had on Gon continued to affect him through the short ride to Kurapika’s apartment. There didn’t seem to be time for Gon to process his surroundings until they came to a stop in the underground parking structure beneath the apartment.

The concrete structure was still, cold, and quiet. The sound of Killua’s keys twirling on his fingers reverberated off of the walls, alongside the sound of Gon’s feet touching the ground. Gon seemed to crouch a little, wary of their surroundings.

Killua started ahead, saying, “Come on. Let’s get inside.”

Gon jumped with a start, chasing after Killua in an instant. At the elevator, Killua typed in Kurapika’s key code. The moment the doors shut, the world outside vanished and deposited them in a bubble. The severe lack of sound nearly felt as though Killua’s ears were popping as they ascended the building floor by floor.

The elevator hummed through the ascent. Killua clasped his hands to the straps of his rucksack, rubbing his thumb idly along the canvas as he watched the numbers of the screen above the door tick up. He could see out of the corner of his eye whenever Gon flinched at something, and he wondered what Gon could be sensing. Other werewolves, maybe? Or perhaps an entirely different beast. Killua wouldn’t have been surprised by that, though werewolves tended to stick to group house settings. They didn’t often live on their own, unless they had families to keep private from the eager, prying attention of their pack.

The elevator stopped and the doors opened.

“Let’s go,” Killua said, eyes forward. 

Gon trailed after him down the hall, a sense of calm returning. As they strode down the hallway, Killua explained, “The building has soundproof walls, and the ventilation system is especially secured, even within the units. You could be in one room and be completely secluded from the world, for all they care.”

“‘They’?”

“The engineers who built this complex,” Killua explained. “It’s especially made for supernaturals. Of course, not  _all_ supernaturals live here. Regular humans live in these spaces, too—they just don’t know their neighbors could be vampires, ghouls, you name it.

“I’d go so far as to say the ratio is fifty-fifty,” he added, a hand raising to his chin. He thought it over, based on all of the discussions he had had with Kurapika on it, and all of his time spent at Kurapika’s apartment.

He shook the mental math away as they arrived at Kurapika’s door. 

There was a code pad on the door, and each button chimed until the locks clicked, the seal around the door deflating, and the handle turned under Killua’s hand. He pushed the door open and waited, knowing that this would be Gon’s first  _real_ impression of Kurapika.

This was the space Kurapika inhabited the most, and therefore, had a more accurate flavor palette for Gon’s sensitive nose to detect.

As expected, the vacuum of air that wafted into the hallway put Gon at a standstill.

Gon braced himself in the hallway, stance wide, as if prepping for a fight. Killua raised his eyebrows, and he was certain his expression said it all—how  _ridiculous_ he thought Gon was being—but Gon’s attention had zeroed in on the smell he had hinted off of Killua.

_Slate_ .

_Mineral_ .

“ _Iron_ ,” Gon whispered. 

The sound of something cracking had Killua’s eyes dropping to Gon’s hands. His claws were back, tenfold, and his fangs drew blood against his lips. Killua had thought it was an accident, the red seeping from Gon’s mouth, but then, Gon licked it up and concluded, “I smell blood.”

Killua took a step over the threshold, and the movement was enough to put Gon over the edge. He leapt forward, grabbing Killua by the arm and all but hurling him back. Killua expected to be stopped, but he certainly hadn’t planned to be thrown up against the wall like that.

Gon flattened his back against Killua, arms out, stilling them both against the wall opposite Kurapika’s open apartment door. The lights were off in the room, and in that darkness, Killua realized it was  _sinister_ to Gon. Whatever sensation Gon now had from Kurapika, it was seeping towards them.

Gon clutched a hand over his nose, the helmet still clutched in his outstretched hand. Killua could smell the soap in Gon’s hair from the shower he took before they left Whale Island, but perhaps the strength of it now had something to do with the spike of fear that coursed through Gon.

Killua’s phone buzzed in his pocket. 

“ _Let Gon draw his own conclusions. Don’t tell him_ ,” Kurapika had written the moment they had left the table.

He knew why Kurapika had said this. Werewolves could detect just about everything from the scent of someone. Their natural defensive affect made it a viable tool to understand a person before they ever even spoke. Gon had met Kurapika—had even  _scented_ them, against all werewolf culture—and therefore concluded that Kurapika was “nice.” 

But that was simply Kurapika and their facade. 

Gon would have to judge the rest for himself. 

“Why is there— _blood?_ ” Gon asked, voice hoarse. 

“Let’s go inside—”

“ _No_ ,” Gon snarled, a growl ripping up his throat. He pushed back against Killua, knocking the breath out of him. Even malnourished and frail, Gon still had the strength of a goddamn bulldozer. “You stay here.”

With that, Gon stepped ahead. Killua slumped forward, rubbing a hand against his chest as he caught his breath. He knew Gon wouldn’t acknowledge it, so he thought it to himself:  _Weirdly aggressive. He probably needs to get his strength back—maybe then his idiot one-track mind will go back to his less-weird one-track mind_ .

Killua waited as Gon slipped into the apartment like he was on a high profile stealth mission. He vanished into the dark of the apartment, and after an entire minute of waiting, the foyer light flicked on, and Gon opened the door. His expression was cold and steady, staring at Killua from over the threshold. 

Killua took the incentive. He followed after Gon into the apartment and closed the door behind them. The locks clicked into place, and the seal inflated around the doorframe. 

Gon led the way. His shoulders were still tense, hair standing on end. He didn’t talk until they were in the kitchen, and Killua recognized the open door at the other end of the room. 

_Well, that was fast_ , he thought. 

The pantry door wasn’t entirely… a  _pantry_ . In fact, a bitter cold draft radiated from it as Gon went to stand at the threshold, holding the door open. The door itself was weighted with a heavy metal interior—the only entrance to a secured freezer. 

“You’re in here,” Gon said, voice hollow. He turned to look back at Killua.

Killua stared back, mouth shut, expression quieting to a meager hint of pity. Gon’s eye twitched at the sight. 

“You  _knew_ ,” Gon said. 

“I gave them a pint before I left Yorknew,” Killua said.  _It’s easier for werewolves to smell their own pack mates. It makes sense that he found the blood freezer so quickly_ , he told himself.

Gon ground his fangs together and hissed, “ _Why?_ ”

“You know why,” Killua said.

Gon slammed the freezer door shut, his eyes stuck on Killua. He was shaking with rage, and Killua sighed, letting his rucksack slip from his shoulders. He tossed it aside and crossed his arms. “Kurapika only drinks blood given to them voluntarily. I’ve given them six or so pints since we last talked.”

A shudder rolled up Gon’s spine. “Th-That’s why they smell so much like you,” he said.

“One pint gets Kurapika through an entire month,” Killua explained. 

“Why would you—?” Gon started, but the answer was plain. It was as plain as Gon’s own decided respect for Kurapika. 

Gon deflated. Killua watched as Gon processed the fact that, despite the evidence in Kurapika’s pantry, they were important to Killua and therefore, important to Gon.

Gon took in a deep breath, and with it, his extended fangs retreated with a sickening crack. They didn’t vanish completely, though, and his jaw had dislocated again as if preparing to attack someone or something. He popped his jaw open, rubbing a hand against his cheek as he did so. 

“So Kurapika is a vampire then,” Gon concluded. 

“Yeah.”

“The smell of rock, then…”

“Probably,” Killua agreed. That scent likely spanned across all vampires. Kurapika was the first vampire Gon encountered, and now he knew the smell of one. “How many did you smell in the building when we were going up?”

“There was a group a few floors down. I think they were leaving, that’s why I smelled them,” Gon said. “The rest of the building… I can’t sense anything. Honestly, it’s a bit of a relief. Everything is so  _loud_ outside…!” 

He scratched at his ears with a distressed groan. 

Killua laughed as he took his rucksack and walked away from the kitchen. “Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m beat.”

“Agreed,” Gon sighed. “Too much excitement for one day.”

“Since when was there ever too much excitement for  _you_ ,” Killua laughed, reaching back to shove Gon in the shoulder. 

Gon laughed, pushing him straight back. Killua slapped his arm away, only to get a face-full of Gon’s hand. He cried out in alarm as Gon giggled and attempted to tackle Killua from behind. Killua staggered as Gon clung to his back like a goddamn backpack. He waved his arms about to catch his balance, and it seemed Gon had no intention of letting go. 

Killua marched onwards, ignoring the weight of Gon on his back. He walked slightly hunched over down the hallway to the bedroom, muttering under his breath, “I don’t know— _why_ —I put up with you.”

At the bedroom door, Killua turned the handle and opened it. After stepping through and closing the door, Gon released him, all but falling on his back with a look of alarm. The door sealed shut, and Killua glanced back at him to say, “Kurapika never comes in here.”

_Because they don’t sleep_ went unspoken.

“It… smells like  _you_ ,” Gon said, scrambling to his feet. He circled around the room, scenting the air, before at last coming to Killua, who shrunk away with a roll of his eyes. He pushed his hand into Gon’s chest to get him to back off, but Gon merely sniffed him from a distance, his nose twitching like a rabbit’s.

Gon’s pupils engulfed his irises, which had sucked the whites from his eyes and turned his eyes a deep black. The sight was unnerving, and it caused a memory to pierce Killua’s brain with enough intensity to send him staggering. 

The image of a fully shifted werewolf at a distance, obscured by the bushes that Killua hid amongst. He had trained for that moment, trained with Gon, but nothing prepared him for the absolute terror that struck his stomach and knocked the wind out of him. All of his training had pushed him to the brink of nullifying his existence to the most heightened degree.

To the degree that not even a werewolf could smell him, not even Gon.

The moment the sensation came, it passed, but the flicker that coursed through Killua made him momentarily invisible to Gon. Not in a visible sense, necessarily, but all of Gon’s heightened senses couldn’t justify seeing Killua before him, but not smelling him, or hearing his heartbeat. Killua’s pocket of time ceased all motion, for a split second. 

Gon blinked, and his pupils shrunk back to their normal size. 

“I-I should probably shower. You take the bed,” Killua said.

He scrambled away and hoped that he was covering his scent enough. Now that he grasped his instinctual panic, he had to hold onto it. He didn’t need Gon knowing about the residual fear he had of werewolves.

Killua ducked into the ensuite bathroom and pressed his back into the door, locking it shut. He let out a deep sigh before holding it in, mustering enough self-restraint to keep from letting go of the shimmery, electrifying pulse that had enveloped his skin at hair’s length. To him, it resembled water—the milky glint off of it having a slightly blue hue as he stepped away and flicked on the bathroom light. He told himself to keep still until his heart slowed in his chest.

When it no longer felt like the pounding of a hammer against his ribcage, he let go of his breath, and the film faded from his skin. He turned on the shower head.


	5. 5 x packmates

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gon's ears are showing, so the crew must brainstorm on what it will take to get rid of them. i.e. Gon meets the pack, Kurapika hates sunlight, and they discuss dark magic.

**S** omething warm filled the left side of Killua’s body with an intense heat that told him that he had slept for hours like this and was only now realizing it. He tugged the blanket off of his shoulders and flopped his arms down over it, the heat dampening his legs and arms. 

His arm dropped on something  _dense_ underneath the blanket next to him. 

Confused, Killua sat up a tad. He flung the blanket off of him and, likewise, off of—

“ _Gon?!_ ” Killua cried, surprised more than anything. 

Gon stirred. He had been curled up with his back against Killua’s side, and upon Killua’s exclamation, he bolted up on all fours and jumped to his feet. “What! What happened!” he shouted, arms raised and ready for a fight.

Killua slumped, folding forward with an elbow on his raised knee and a hand on his head. “Nothing,” he groaned. He glanced over at the bed where he had last seen Gon just hours ago, sleeping soundly. The comforter was ruffled from when Gon had, at some point, gotten up and joined Killua on the floor.

He scrubbed the heel of his palm against his eyes. He sat back with a sigh and glanced back at Gon, who had gone to the windowsill to observe the streets below. The idiot had his hands on the windowpane, his nose pushed up against the glass. Killua scoffed a little at the sight, smiling to himself as he stood from the floor and puffed his sweater out to air out the heat he had accumulated overnight.

As Killua plucked at the front of his shirt, he passed the mirror that was spread over the wardrobe doors. His hair looked like it was halfway to floating into the stratosphere, and his eyes were a poor sight. He tugged at the bags under his eyes and stuck his tongue out, lips curled back to check his teeth.

_Could be worse_ , he decided, and went in search of his toothbrush in his rucksack.

As he was in the bathroom brushing his teeth, he leant over to see Gon through the mirror. Gon was still perched at the window, his stance crouched, knees out, hands on the glass.  _Like a cat_ , Killua thought, straightening his posture. He looked at himself in the mirror and thought,  _Though, very much still a dog_ .

He spat out the foam and rinsed his mouth out before leaving the bathroom. His phone was buzzing on the ground, and for a moment, he didn’t think to consider the reason why Gon’s fluffy hair flickered then at the sound. 

Killua picked it up and read the text from Knuckle: “ _Tell Kurapika to get the stick out of their ass and drive you two to my place. We’ll block the windows for them._ ”

Killua remembered a time when Knuckle did not, in fact, block the windows.

He typed back rapidly, a smirk on his lips, “ _Yeah right, like you blocked them that one time?_ ”

The response came quickly.

“ _THAT WAS ONE TIME_ .”

Killua snickered to himself as he tossed his phone onto the bed and pulled off his shirt from the previous day. He shrugged on a fresh t-shirt and topped it with a sleek, purple athletic zip-up. He popped the collar up and smoothed it out before turning to Gon. 

“Ready?” he asked. 

“For what?” Gon said, eyes still on the street. 

“We’re visiting Knuckle,” Killua said, and instantly Gon perked up. Literally. Killua raised his eyebrows at the sight of Gon’s hair spiking up again, only, this time—

The emphasis was on two protruding tufts of hair on the top of his head. 

Killua realized what they were before Gon ever mentioned anything. He wondered if Gon even  _knew_ . Before he could say a word, he reached for his rucksack once more and pulled out the dust pouch. He sprinkled a pinch of dust onto his palm and blew it across the room. 

Gon wrinkled his nose up at it, only to hesitate at the shimmer that coated the room. He stared, wide-eyed, at the iridescent shine that blanketed over them. It consolidated in dense patches. Killua focused on Gon’s ears, though, only to be distracted by the brightest shine in the room coming from the floor around his ruffled makeshift bed. 

A perfect oval circled the spot where Killua had slept the previous night. To top it off, Gon himself was emitting a similar, destructive vibe that Killua had sensed in Mito-san’s abandoned house. A shiver rolled up his spine as he pointed to the oval that Gon just noticed.

“What were you  _doing_ last night?!” Killua shrieked. 

“I don’t know!” Gon said, panicked.

“It looks like you spent half the night pacing,” Killua said, throwing his hands out at the sight, “around  _me!_ And you’ve sprouted  _ears!_ ”

Gon slapped his hands over his ears—his  _human_ ears, only to shriek so loud Killua jumped back in alarm. Gon slapped his hands over his ears, which pushed his fingers closer and closer to where the culprits  _actually_ were. His hair was out of control, and Killua was certain that if it was at its normal length, he would have noticed Gon’s lack of human ears sooner. 

It looked like he had oversized sideburns now, though.

Gon squeezed his hands over his hair tufts, only to shriek, “ _Ow!_ Ow, that  _hurts!_ ”

“Then stop squeezing them, for fuck’s sake!” Killua shouted.

Gon let go of them with a cry of alarm, waving his hands about as he shouted, “What do I do! I don’t know how to get rid of them!”

“You should be asking Knuckle that, not me!” 

Gon lunged forward, grabbing Killua’s hand along the way. “Then let’s go!” He ran, barefoot, out of the door with Killua stumbling after him to catch his balance. They swarmed into the hallway where they cruised to a rapid halt, feet skidding across the carpet before Gon slammed straight into an irritated Kurapika.

Killua yelped as he barely caught himself from knocking into Gon. Though, he really couldn’t avoid it considering in the next moment, Gon was vaulting back and stepping on his toes through the leather of his combat boots. Killua grunted in agony, trying not to double-over.

Gon thrust his arms out to block Kurapika from Killua and screamed at the top of his lungs, “You can’t have his blood!”

Kurapika grimaced, rubbing a hand over their ear. “I’m not actively seeking out  _anyone’s_ blood at the moment, thank you very much,” they said, flicking their hand in Gon’s direction. Gon flinched, dilated pupils flitting from Kurapika’s hand to Kurapika’s tired, irritated eyes. 

Kurapika leant towards them. They both leant back. “I know what you two are going to ask, and I am  _not_ going out in this weather.”

“It’s a nice day!” Gon said. “The sun is out and— _wait_ , will you  _really_ burst into flames in sunlight?!”

“I’d rather  _die_ than deal with sunshine, and that includes you today, Gon. At least Killua’s always a little overcast.”

“Gee, thanks,” Killua sighed. 

As Kurapika stepped ahead into the living room, Gon chased after them. Killua stopped him with a hand around his wrist to say, “Clear skies bum them out. If it’s clear skies at night, that’s even worse.”

“Why? I thought vampires don’t burn if the sun isn’t out,” Gon said.

“I have a  _severe_ sun allergy. Think third degree sunburn in a matter of two minutes of exposure,” Kurapika explained as they collapsed back in a chair. They folded one leg up and propped a book on their knee, eyeing Gon sourly. “As for clear skies at night, that’s for the wolves. Vampires thrive in total darkness. Wolves hunt better under starlight.”

“But the wolves around Yorknew don’t hunt frequently because of light pollution, they just make excuses to go out,” Killua said with a shrug. “You’ll have to ask Knuckle—when we  _go over to his place—_ ” Killua eyed Kurapika, who sneered at him, “but I think they plan monthly hunting trips to the countryside.”

“Every full moon—for the convenience, of course,” Kurapika said. “I can’t stand Leorio and the pack when there’s a blue moon. Two hunting trips in one month is excessive, if you ask me.”

Gon hesitated to take a seat, but at last, he lowered himself onto the couch adjacent to Kurapika. The furniture was all blocky and simple, just as minimalistic as the rest of the apartment. Gon looked so small in comparison to the cushions, his shoulders pushed up to his ears, and his wolfish ears more obvious now the longer the morning dragged on.

Gon fiddled with his hands on his ankles before at last saying, “Leorio… he’s the bartender, right?”

“Yeah. He got the pack together—albeit… accidentally. He isn’t an alpha by any means,” Kurapika explained. 

Killua smiled as Kurapika explained the events that conspired just two years prior, when the Paladiknight restaurant came into fruition. Kurapika had met Leorio after graduating from the Lusko Province Academy, at a supernatural club where Leorio, in a drunken rage, stole the DJ’s microphone and demanded the attention of everyone in the club.

“ _Mainstream restaurants are discriminatory!_ ” he had screamed. “ _If I want a whole ass cow, I get looked at funny by the chefs! Who keeps a whole ass cow—in a_ restaurant _?! No room, you say? Fuck that! That shit’s expensive, too! If I want to eat everything on the menu, I’m not gonna spend my entire inheritance!_ ”

There had been a standing ovation. 

The reason Kurapika was interested in Killua’s magic at all was because they had an interest in the problem Leorio was trying to solve: How do you feed supernaturals when the sheer quantity of food would require a football stadium to store it?

“Collapsing space,” Kurapika said, pointing to Killua. They leant over their knees, hands splayed. “If we could fit an entire cow—an entire  _farm_ —underneath Yorknew—”

“You’d have a restaurant for werewolves,” Gon finished, eyes wide. 

Kurapika nodded. They clasped their hands together and shrugged. “So I did some research. I talked to Leorio first, though—business isn’t my specialty, and after that fuss he made at the most popular supernatural venue, everyone was expecting him to follow through. He was just ranting, mind you, I don’t think owning a bar that serves blood and human guts was what he had in mind for his future.”

Gon stuck his tongue out at the visual, nose wrinkled up in disgust.

“So you’ve been learning dark magic to house the… produce?” Gon said, and Kurapika nodded. “That’s kinda…”

“Weird, fucked up, and awesome all at the same time,” Killua said. A small smile tugged on Kurapika’s lips. Killua shook his head. “That shit would be hard to do on your own. Have you found someone to help maintain it?”

“We have workers in there year-round,” Kurapika explained to Gon. “Raising livestock, et cetera, but the amount of magic it takes to collapse the space into the interior of a pantry would have killed me years ago if I was human. Dark magic feeds off of an individual’s life-force. Considering you’re familiar with light magic, you must know the difference.”

Gon nodded. All magic functioned in a return system. The amount of natural magic you take in for personal use must be returned. Hoarding said magic without the return factor could cripple the best of sorcerers. Generally, returning magic to the earth was simply a matter of replenishing one’s self. Excessive magic use depended on how toned their magical influence was. The return factor could range from a night of deep meditation to an entire month spent comatose. 

Dark magic, on the other hand, had the potential to suck a person dry of every spec of “flavor” to their life-force. It was why Killua’s own magic was sheer white. Somehow, he had maintained a slight blue hue. If the blue ever vanished, Killua wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to revert back to light magic. 

“Dark magic requires physical strength and endurance as well,” Kurapika explained. “The stronger your body is, the more resistant it will be to breaking down. Since vampires literally cannot break down from malnutrition or age, they have a higher threshold for dark magic. It’s why dark magic users are often vampires or other immortal beings. Daemons and such.”

“What about Killua?” Gon asked, and Killua raised an eyebrow at the shrill hitch in Gon’s voice, like Killua was going to drop dead at any second. 

“I was trained for it,” he said, shaking his head. “Our bloodline has had an affinity for dark magic for centuries. It’s made us resistant to the decomposition light sorcerers experience.” Light magic users, due to the feedback loop with natural magic, tended to live longer and have stronger immune systems. Killua’s training, however, gave him the immune system twice that of light sorcerers. 

But it didn’t mean he’d live longer. 

He wasn’t about to tell Gon that, either.

“Knuckle’s father knows a dark magic sorcerer who was willing to help us,” Kurapika said, drawing Killua’s attention away from the thoughtful look that had taken over Gon’s countenance. “Leorio hired him on shortly after you left Yorknew.”

“Vampire?”

“Yes.”

“I’m surprised,” Killua confessed. Kurapika tolerated working with the supernatural crew that now followed Leorio around, but when it came to vampires, Kurapika was more or less resilient to their help. Killua never quite understood Kurapika’s distaste for them, or their general attitude towards the werewolf population.

From what Killua understood, Kurapika really only cooperated with sorcerers. Killua attributed it towards a sorcerer’s affinity for knowledge-seeking. It was something Kurapika had in common with them. Even still, Kurapika spent their academy years focusing solely on light magic to avoid retaliation against their eventual acclimation to dark magic. 

So Kurapika still had a grudge against the sorcerer community.

“I don’t hate everyone,” Kurapika remarked with an edge in their voice that told Killua he was asking to be cut with their words. 

“I didn’t say that,” Killua said with a smile. Kurapika narrowed their eyes at him. 

“So will you take us to Knuckle’s place?” Gon asked, tipping forward, beaming with all of his sharp teeth. “ _Please?_ ”

“Go yourselves.”

“Knuckle invited you, too,” Killua said. 

Kurapika sighed heavily, the burden of the invitation pressing Kurapika’s fingers to the bridge of their nose. “I told him not to bother,” Kurapika said, irritation prickling their voice. “Leorio’s been calling me at five minute intervals, as well. One thing I’ll never understand about wolves is their  _persistence_ .”

As if on cue, Kurapika’s phone started buzzing. Killua smirked as Kurapika all but threw their phone across the room. Kurapika was smart, though, so if they really didn’t want to bother, they would have turned the ringer off long ago.

“I’ll drive,” Killua offered, and at Kurapika’s dull look, he added, “I’ve driven your car before, asshat. I know how to drive.”

“You know  _how_ , but you’re not a rule-follower, by any means,” Kurapika stressed.

Killua rolled his eyes and leant back against the couch next to Gon. Gon gasped abruptly then, startling both Killua and Kurapika. Gon leant forward even further, crying, “Have you seen Killua’s motorcycle?!”

Killua wanted to slap his forehead and slap Gon simultaneously. He turned red at the amusement on Kurapika’s face. As much as Killua loved his motorcycle, he certainly didn’t make a fuss about it with in acquaintances. And with Kurapika, he had never taken them out on the bike. His motorcycle wasn’t exactly  _equipped_ for rainy days, and Kurapika’s tinted windows made for safer passage for vampires. 

“I’ve seen it,” Kurapika said, borderline laughing. 

Gon flung his arms up, collapsing back on the couch as he said, “It’s the coolest thing I’ve ever seen!”

Killua ground his teeth together as all of the heat in his body accumulated in his ears. “Gon!” he said, desperate to get his friend to shut up about it. 

Gon pouted at him, and Killua covered his face as Kurapika threw their head back laughing. 

“Alright, I’ll take you guys,” Kurapika said. They nodded back to the kitchen and said, “I went grocery shopping while you two were sleeping. Make sure to get something to eat—I’m sure it’s going to be an all night affair.”

As Killua got up, Gon blinked and said, “It’s still morning, though.”

 

* * *

 

Knuckle and Leorio’s pack lived on the far side of Yorknew’s suburbs. There, the houses were more divided, which made for more breathing room and larger surface area for entire complexes. There on the coast, Knuckle’s foster father had built what could only be described as an estate fit with a dozen rooms—ten of which were occupied. 

The moment Kurapika pulled into the gravel driveway, Killua could see the front door swinging open. Out came Leorio, his long strides all but vaulting him to the driveway where he ran to the driver’s side and popped out a large, opaque umbrella before opening Kurapika’s door. 

Gon had taken the passenger’s seat so he would have the best view of the road, but when Kurapika’s door opened, Gon all but vaulted over the center console with a vicious, crackling growl that would have stopped anyone but Kurapika in their tracks. 

Kurapika held out an arm to stop Gon and wound up close lining him in the throat. Killua scrambled to get out of the backseat and to the passenger’s side as Kurapika turned smoothly to Leorio and asked, “Where’s Knuckle?”

Leorio’s grimace faltered before he stared openly at Gon as Killua reached in through the passenger’s side and grabbed Gon by the neck of his shirt. Gon yelped, ears flattened back, as Killua yanked him off of Kurapika and to the other side of the car. 

With the car now securely between Leorio and Gon, Leorio swallowed thickly and said, “Inside. I think he’s making something for Gon.”

Kurapika slid out underneath the shade of Leorio’s umbrella. They tugged the hem on their long black gloves, ensuring that every inch of their skin was covered up to the base of their jawline. To top it off, Kurapika wore a broad-rimmed sunhat with one side folded up, which gave them ample space to hold an umbrella near. 

Killua held Gon by the back of his shirt. The fabric was pulled tight now that Gon was straining to claw at Leorio, who gave them a wide birth. 

Killua hissed, “I swear to God I’ll get you a leash.”

It may not have stopped the aggressive snarling, but Gon stopped tugging and merely scowled threateningly at Leorio as the man hurried to pass with Kurapika as his meat shield. 

The distant roar of the ocean left a constant hum in the background of Killua’s mind as he walked Gon several paces behind Leorio and Kurapika. The salty sea water aroma was back and just as refreshing as Whale Island. Killua took a deep breath of it as they climbed the steps to the front door. The breeze billowed against his jacket, ruffling the collar and sweeping through his hair. He looked out at the road where it was partially obscured by pine trees until Leorio ushered them all inside. 

Killua put himself between Gon and Leorio, but he didn’t make it that far at all. Gon stopped him with a sharp tug on his jacket, sending him teetering at the threshold. He steadied himself with a hand on the open door as Leorio laughed apologetically and said, “I’ll get Knuckle.”

“Yeah, that sounds like a good idea,” Killua agreed. 

Inside, the curtains were closed, and Killua noted the fact that many of the windows were taped over with newspapers. The sight was rather comical, but Kurapika didn’t comment. The gesture said enough. They tried.

Kurapika kept the umbrella at their side, gloved hands clasped over the curved wooden handle. “Well, this should be interesting,” they said, lifting their sunglasses off to look at Gon.

Gon peered over Killua’s shoulder at the foyer. Killua could hear him sniffing, and after a few moments, Gon stifled another growl with his teeth clenched, fist held tightly against the back of Killua’s jacket. Both Gon and Killua flinched at the sound of someone clapping their hands loudly from the far side of the house, and it was immediately followed by a rapid set of feet making their way to the foyer. 

And then, Knuckle came around the corner.

Gon gasped, leaping so high in the air that he easily could have vaulted over Killua. Killua ducked as if preparing for it, only to be swept aside by Gon jumping past him and lunging at Knuckle.

Knuckle threw his arms out and laughed as Gon tackled him in a bear-hug. Killua took that chance to sneak inside and shut the door so Kurapika could take off their gloves. 

“Knuckle!” Gon cried, arms around his neck.

Knuckle gave him a few firm pats on the back before setting him down and holding him at arms length. “I’d say you’re looking better, but your ears are showing,” Knuckle said with a frown. “That won’t do. We have plans.”

“What do you mean?” Gon asked, putting his hands over his fluffy hair. His ears flattened out once more, this time out of self-consciousness. 

Knuckle rubbed a hand over his chin and considered the state of Gon Freecs. “Going out with your ears like that… is the werewolf equivalent of guys purposefully showing their boxers in public.”

“Ew,” Kurapika muttered from beside Killua. 

“It’s like you didn’t have time to put a belt on!” Knuckle said, throwing his arms up. “We have to fix this! Fortunately for you, I’ve got just the thing.” With that, Knuckle turned around, crouched down, and gestured for Gon to hop on. 

Gon, despite being on the cusp of adulthood, leapt on with glee. He clasped his arms around Knuckle’s neck before thrusting his fist out and saying, “Onward, steed!” 

Knuckle led them all to the kitchen where Leorio was along with several other people. They heard voices from down the hall and followed the sound of their laughter until the kitchen island counter came into view. Leorio stood at the far end of it underneath the light of the chandelier, and stationed at two of the stools were two men of two entirely different statures. 

Knuckle held on tightly to Gon’s legs as if to keep him from springing back to the foyer. “Gon, meet my dad, Morel. Next to him is Colt.”

Morel raised a hand in greeting. He was the heftier, burlier of the two with long grey hair tied back in a bun. The flat arch of his nose held a pair of sunglasses despite being indoors without a lick of sunlight present—for Kurapika’s benefit. 

Beside him, Colt waved and said, “You must be Gon. Knuckle’s already told us about you.” Colt’s black hair was swept back into a tight braid, and given the state of the beach towel over his shoulders, Killua deduced that swimming was likely a thing that would happen that he did  _not_ prepare for. 

Gon said nothing. Knuckle let him stay where he was, perched on his back, as he went across the kitchen to the blender. Only then did Gon whisper, “‘Morel’ like the mushroom?” Across the room, Killua glanced at Morel, who grinned in amusement.

Knuckle agreed with Gon as he plucked the cap off of an opaque container. The blender station was already equipped with the necessary ingredients. 

“What are you making?” Gon whispered as Knuckle scooped out a few spoonfuls of a light, powdery substance. 

“Think of it like a protein shake,” he said. 

From down the counter, Morel cleared his throat and said, “We’ve decided that, since you’re undernourished, you haven’t gotten your growth spurt yet. The healthier you are, the more you’ll show signs of transitioning. Have you shifted yet?”

Killua hadn’t considered it. He assumed that Gon had done so given the state of Mito-san’s backyard. But then, he recalled the sight of human footprints on the walls, and the sensation from Gon’s room and bedroom that morning. There was an eerie, heavily saturated  _tension_ that Killua couldn’t ignore, like something—or some _one_ —trapped beneath a boulder. 

Trying to get out.

Gon shook his head. “I don’t think so,” he confessed, quietly. 

“Then we need to get you into tip-top shape,” Knuckle said, dumping water into the blender. “The teeth and claws are signs of hunger, but not being able to control it is general malnutrition. Your ears just showed now because it’s the first time you’ve had enough protein, I’m guessing, but there’s a lot more to it.”

“You mentioned a growth spurt,” Kurapika commented to Morel. “When do wolves usually go through growth spurts?”

“In adolescence,” Morel answered, crossing his arms over his barrel chest. “Gon has the physique of a pup right now. He should be closer in size to Colt by now, but it sounds like this isn’t a genetic thing. Someone turned him, didn’t they?”

Killua took to studying Colt as the guy got up to get a glass of water. His posture was straight and he had a torso shaped like a goddamn Dorito—not that that was at all a bad thing. His muscles were all toned and honestly, kind of on the beefy side.  _Military_ , Killua concluded. He looked over at Gon, who was still latched onto Knuckle with his boney limbs.  _Cat_ , he decided.

“We assume so. Gon isn’t sure,” Kurapika answered.

Morel stroked his chin. “Interesting. Well, new wolves aren’t common. I don’t know of any packs that practice turning non-wolves. It’s illegal in most continents, unless in the case of mates.”

“What do you mean?” Killua asked. His and Gon’s research had been limited to strengths and weaknesses of werewolves—never cultural phenomena.

“It’s more common than not for a wolf’s significant other to be human,” Morel said, shrugging. “In terms of statistics, more male offspring are wolves. Female werewolves tend to be turned by their partners. They have to go through counseling before the government allows a human to be turned.”

“Like marriage counseling, but for werewolves turning humans,” Leorio reiterated. 

“Weird,” Killua muttered, but he couldn’t deny the logic there. The laws against turning humans was supposed to prevent scenarios like the one that landed Gon here with wolf ears.

Knuckle turned the blender on. After a few moments of the roar, he cut the power and poured the concoction into a glass for Gon. 

Gon lowered himself onto the ground then, his bare feet on the tiles. He took the glass with both hands and took a small sip, his eyes on everyone in the room. Killua was certain he wasn’t the only one holding his breath as he awaited Gon’s consensus. Nearby, Leorio leant over to get a better look, and Colt tipped his head curiously at them all for treating the situation as something greater than what it was.

Gon lowered the glass, took another small sip, before a smile spread across his lips. 

“Good?” Knuckle asked.

Gon nodded, pleased. He tipped his head back and chugged a few more gulps before humming, “Tastes good!”

Knuckle clapped him on the shoulder as he finished off the cup. “I’ll make you more later. It’s not a meal supplement by any means, but it’ll hold you over. Packed full of everything you need right about now, though. One more of those and an actual meal and those ears should go away.” Knuckle flicked at one of Gon’s ears, which flickered irritably as Gon pouted up at him.

“Depends on what the meal is,” Gon muttered, setting the empty glass down. He put a hand to his stomach and confessed, almost too quiet for Killua to hear, “It… doesn’t taste as good as what I had last night, though…”

“You aren’t gonna throw it up, are you?” Knuckle said, sucking in a sharp breath as Gon wavered a little, leaning on the counter.

“Reina had trouble holding down that stuff the first few times,” Colt reminded Knuckle, who jumped in a panic, running to the sink to grab the trash can. 

“Hold it in! Hold it in!” Knuckle shouted as Gon groaned some more. From the counter stools, Morel could be seen putting a hand to his face as Gon dry-heaved into the trash, but nothing came up. 

Gon leant back, gasping, and took a cup of water from Leorio. “Thank you, Leorio…” Gon sighed, gulping it down with the hopes of swallowing the nausea down with it.

Morel pushed off of the counter and stood. The sound of the stool scraping across the tile turned the focus in the kitchen onto him, and as he rose, he said, “I have something we could try.”


	6. 6 x packmates

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morel the Mushroom provides some insightful advice. Killua doesn't know what the feeling in his chest means.

**K** illua was hesitant to leave Gon alone, but with Knuckle within a foot of Gon at all times, he supposed he didn’t have to worry about Gon attacking Leorio. Since coming into the house, though, it seemed as though Gon’s attitude towards Leorio had improved tenfold. 

However, Killua’s curiosity got the better of him. He followed after Kurapika and Morel out of the kitchen and to the basement stairs. 

At the base of the stairwell, the temperature seemed to drop. Goosebumps rose on Killua’s skin underneath the sleeves of his jacket as Morel pulled a key out of his back pocket. The single light overhead cast his dark shadow across the door, engulfing it entirely as he unlocked it. 

“We keep our food stored down here. The basement is climate controlled, so we don’t have to worry about meat going bad,” Morel said in a gruff voice. He pushed the door open, and as it creaked, the electricity inside hummed to life.

Strips of light burst on one by one. Each one resonated through the cellar, down the long hallway flanked on either side by freezers. They were florescent, and against the grey metal walls, the entire space flooded with an eerie, shimmery fog. 

Their footsteps echoed across the concrete floors as Kurapika asked, “What do you have in mind for Gon?”

“It’s another tough case,” Morel said. “Right now, I imagine he needs raw red meat, but I know we aren’t going to get him to follow through with that. Not the way he is now.”

“You should talk to him about that,” Kurapika suggested. 

“Sooner rather than later,” Morel agreed, huffing out a breath of fog. He approached a freezer at the end of the hall and opened the door. “But for now, if he goes on like this, even  _with_ decent eating habits, he’ll never be at full strength. It’s similar with human children—reduce their nutrient intake at a young age and they’ll see the effects later on. The development process is stunted.”

“So you think you have something that could…  _change his mind?_ ” Killua said, unconvinced. 

“I’m saying I have something that tastes so fucking good he won’t resist it,” Morel said and punctuated it with a hearty laugh that boomed through the freezer and resonated in every last bone of Killua’s body.

A shudder rolled up his spine as Morel continued to laugh. It became maniacal, diabolical, and a product from Killua’s nightmares. It was how he imagined his brother to sound in his unconscious mind, and given the scenery, he imagined his older brother shutting him up in a freezer. If Illumi ever planned on getting Killua to stand still, Killua always thought it was  _over his dead body_ .  _I should start telling him ‘over my frozen body’_ , Killua thought, teeth clattering as Morel emerged with a slim wooden box in hand.

Kurapika didn’t seem at all affected by the cold. In fact, their breath never clouded in front of them as it did for Morel and Killua. Killua reveled in his jealousy.  _Screw you, Kurapika, for never losing your breath_ .

Morel undid the clasp on the box.

“This baby should do the trick,” Morel said.

Killua leant forward as Morel lifted the lid. Inside, tucked away amongst packing fluff, sat a single, lonely…

Egg.

“ _Seriously?_ ” Killua droned, raising an eyebrow at Morel. 

Kurapika gasped aloud. Killua startled at the sound, and then staggered as Kurapika pushed in to pick up the box. “This—! You own a  _griffin egg?_ ” they cried, marveling at it.

Killua blinked at the name. Griffins were on the endangered species list and had been for a century. Hunting them was about as taboo as assassinating world leaders—assassinating world leaders was more common than hunting griffins, though. Killua had once visited a griffin sanctuary as a child, but it wasn’t exactly a field trip. He imagined it was for the same purpose that Morel was presenting before them. 

“You’re gonna get him  _high?_ ” Killua gawked. “That sounds like a  _disaster_ .”

“Griffin eggs have no hallucinogenic effects for werewolves,” Morel said. He took the box back and snapped it shut. “They simply reduce paranoia and pain by up to ninety percent in some cases. They’ve been used on burn victims and trauma patients in the past. But for werewolves… it tastes like heaven. And yes, it will make him ‘high’. And no, it doesn’t work on vampires.”

Killua glanced at Kurapika then, whose wide eyes were still focused solely on the box, hands raised as if preparing to snatch it away and never give it back. 

“This, Killua,” Morel continued, drawing Killua’s attention away from Kurapika to see the smile on Morel’s face. Killua swallowed hard, a nervous sweat breaking out on his forehead as Morel said, “ _This_ is as good as chocolate is to humans.”

_Damn, it must be pretty good then_ , Killua thought.

He leant back, hands in his pockets. He glanced warily at the exit and said, “Yeah, right. Nothing’s better than chocolate.”

 

* * *

 

“This is better than  _chocolate!_ ” Gon exclaimed, kicking his legs out from the back deck stairs where everyone watched in anticipation for the main event: Gon drinking a griffin egg shake. 

Killua let out a sigh of relief, but it didn’t change the fact that his best friend was going to be more than a handful for the rest of the night. When Morel emerged from the cellar with the egg, they were met with an empty kitchen, and a flurry of clothes abandoned on the back deck. 

Now, Gon’s hair was wet, his shirt was gone, and all that was left happened to be his boxers and the towel Colt had lent him. Colt and Knuckle were watching from the sand where the deck stairs ended, watching with a mix of fascination and jealousy as their ex-alpha snickered at Killua from across the deck. 

Morel held up a thumbs up.

Killua’s relief was pushed aside to make room for bitter frustration.

_When Gon turns into a handful, don’t come crying to me_ , Killua thought. 

Gon inhaled the last bits of the shake. Next to him, Kurapika sat with a hand on their knee, the other braced behind Gon, looking ravenously at the remains of the shake. 

Their gloved nails dug into the deck as they leant forward and hissed, “You didn’t even savor it a  _little!_ You inhaled it!” 

Leorio leaned in, frantic to keep the umbrella covering Kurapika. 

Gon moaned, slumping back as he said, “I’m sorry, it just tasted so  _good_ .” Gon bent back, tipping his head to see Morel upside-down. “Is there any leftover?”

“Yeah. I’m making shots for the guys to take before they go out,” Morel said, pointing his thumb in the direction of the kitchen back inside. Morel looked at Killua and said, “You’re more than welcome to try.”

“I guess I’ll be the designated driver then,” Killua sighed, shrugging. “Griffin eggs don’t affect me anymore.”

“You’re kidding,” Leorio said, and at the dull look Killua gave him, he said, “Of course you aren’t kidding. I don’t know why I question things anymore with you.”

“Going out? Where are we going?” Gon asked. 

Leorio beamed then, leaning over Kurapika to say, “Only the greatest venue in Yorknew!  _Thirteen_ .”

“Thir—teen? Like the number?” Gon said, raising an eyebrow. 

“Yeah, but if you replace the ’T’ and the first ‘E’ with the number,” Leorio said. “ _Thir13en_ .”

“Aw, sounds lame. Math isn’t my best subject,” Gon whined, slumping in defeat. As he griped and groaned about it, Leorio tried to recover the situation as best he could.

“It’s the best supernatural nightclub in Yorknew. Have you ever been clubbing since becoming a wolf?” Leorio asked. 

“He’s never  _been_ clubbing,” Killua said, completely deadpan.

Gon’s hair immediately stood on end, only to flatten when his ears pushed back as he shouted, “You don’t know that! I’ve been places!”

“Yeah, with  _Mito-san_ ,” Killua teased. He swayed back on his heels and squinted at the sun overhead. “Besides, wouldn’t that be a bit… sensory overload for a new wolf?”

“It’s easier to go in packs, and with the griffin in his system, he’ll feel light as a feather,” Morel promised from behind them. Gon tipped his head back again to look up into Morel’s sunglasses. The sun glinted off of them, casting a shine towards the ocean. “You’ve acclimated well, but I imagine we’ve got some work ahead of us. We won’t know for sure if you’re fit for our pack until your wolf has matured.”

“It’ll be more sensory overload for us big guys,” Leorio said, thumping a fist to his chest as he leant back against the stairs. 

Kurapika narrowed their eyes in annoyance, pushing their sunglasses up. “I don’t see any ‘big guys’,” they said. 

Leorio floundered for a moment before barking back, “I just mean that we’re fully matured!”

Kurapika turned away, glancing over Gon’s spiked-up hair as they said, “Up for debate.”

“The sun really does make you pissy,” Leorio grumbled. “It’s like you’re on your period.”

“Even if I had a vagina, you’d smell it a mile away!” Kurapika said, and behind them, Morel burst into laughter.

Gon let out a surprised laugh, only to giggle incessantly when Kurapika turned to glare at him, brow tense over their sunglasses. Gon clasped a hand over his mouth, cackling into it as Kurapika scoffed and pushed up off of the stairs. 

They snatched the umbrella from Leorio’s grasp and turned to head inside. “You all are insufferable on clear days,” they said, and made a point to snap the umbrella shut with vigor, and then slam the door after them. A piece of newspaper rolled off under the force.

Gon jumped up, his mouth open to apologize, but before even a squeak came out, Kurapika was gone. Morel plucked the glass out of Gon’s outstretched hand and said, “Don’t mind them. We are all like-minded nocturnals, but vampires tend to have a superiority complex. It makes them strong individualists, I’ll give them that much.”

“Like-minded nocturnals?” Gon repeated. 

“Yes,” Morel said. “Our food pyramids overlap, and therefore, we have the potential to fight for the same food. Kurapika has a preference for human, though, but if necessary, I believe they also drink deer.” At this, he looked to Killua for confirmation. 

Killua shrugged. “Yeah, but deer tastes like dirt to them.”

“What…  _is_ our food pyramid, then?” Gon asked, scratching the hair that had fluffed up where his human ears used to be.

Down in the sand, this grabbed Knuckle’s attention. Knuckle jumped up, taking the steps two at a time before coming up beside Gon, who startled at Knuckle’s newfound presence. 

Knuckle presented one finger. “Just about anything warm-blooded.  _But_ , there are some exceptions. For one: Humans are like grape for dogs.”

“Good, I never planned on eating one anyway,” Gon said with a weak laugh, rubbing the back of his head.

“ _Two_ ,” Knuckle said, presenting his second finger, “Rodents and the like  _might_ give you food poisoning, but squirrels and chipmunks are fine.  _Three_ : Don’t eat bats. Just don’t. And  _four_ : Birds are a handful, but a sparrow never hurt anybody. Not that I’ve heard.”

Colt raised his hand. “Except for that time Stick was poked in the eye by a sparrow.”

“Ah, yeah, I forgot about that,” Knuckle said. 

“That’s great, but what’s… the most  _nutritious_ , I guess?” Gon asked.

“Beavers,” Knuckle said.

“ _What?_ Where do you find  _beavers?!_ ” Gon cried, alarmed. 

“We take monthly hunting trips to the rivers up north,” he explained. “Buffalo is a delicacy, and if you can get your hands on a moose without the government going after you, or losing a limb, I’d say go for it. Leorio has a preference for cows, but I suppose we won’t know what you like until you try it.”

The look on Gon’s face said he wasn’t looking forward to it. “Sounds fun,” Gon said, smile weak but still present. 

Morel declared that they should start on dinner. Leorio got up to help with it, and likewise, Knuckle offered to help. Killua followed Morel’s gaze to Gon, who watched, ears perked, from the stairs. 

“I’ll be fine,” Gon promised. 

Morel studied him for a moment before nodding to Knuckle. Knuckle clapped Gon and the shoulder and said, “You better, kid. I’m still watching you.”

Gon laughed nervously, waving after him until they were gone through the door. When the patio door shut once more, Gon dropped his hand and sighed. Killua stepped over to the edge of the stairs and put a hand on the railing. The glare from the sun strained his eyes, but he found himself reveling in it. The warmth of the sun was… refreshing. 

Colt called Gon’s name from the sand, waving a hand up and gesturing to the water. Killua watched as Gon perked up once more, and he could see the excitement vibrating in Gon’s scrawny, boney frame. When Gon turned back to him, his smile was blinding on his round face. 

“I’m gonna go swimming with Colt some more. Wanna come?” he asked. 

Killua shook his head. “Nah, I’m good.”

“Come down to the sand?” Gon suggested. 

Killua hesitated. The hopeful look on Gon’s face, though, had him undoing the laces on his combat boots. 

Satisfied to have Killua on board, Gon left. He lunged off of the last five stairs and went toppling into the sand, barrel-rolling after Colt, who was already halfway through the thicket of wispy grass on the dunes. Gon chased after him, kicking up sand in his wake as he laughed and leapt, arms up, into the water. 

The bright sensation in Killua’s chest returned. He abandoned his combat boots on the deck then, and a moment later, his shirt went with it. He left his pants among the patchwork of clothes from the guys earlier in the day, and he took off running down the stairs and through the sand. 

His bare feet touched down. The sand was warm and smooth between his toes, but he didn’t take the time to relish in it. He was too focused on the waves that were crashing in, and the thrilled sound of Gon and Colt taking it on full-force.

Killua rushed into the water. The bite of cold ocean water didn’t hinder him as he lunged over the water and into the wave next to Gon. He dove in, arms forward, his hands cutting through the water as it washed over him and brought him back to the surface. The fresh air that filled his lungs was almost as amazing as the ocean around him, seeping between his fingers, and lapping across every ounce of his skin. 

He shivered in delight, eyes closed against the sun and the brilliant blue sky. When he opened his eyes again, it was because the wave and pushed him into the shadow of Gon, who now leant over him with those wide, amber eyes. 

Killua’s breath caught in his throat. He lashed out and shoved his hand in Gon’s face. “Stop lookin’ at me like that!” he shouted, springing up. 

“I wasn’t looking at you!” Gon cried, splashing water up at Killua. 

Killua sputtered, blinking salt water out of his eyes before grinning evilly and stalking towards Gon. Gon yelped and kicked his leg out, spraying water against Killua’s next attack. Amidst the water fight, Killua identified another crucial feeling fluttering in his chest with a mix of rampant excitement.

He couldn’t name it.


	7. 7 x prey

**B** y dinner, Gon was, in Killua’s opinion, more like himself. And, by the end of dinner, his already flattened ears had retracted completely. His human ears flicked out with a  _pop_ that had Gon whining, though, and rubbing at them miserably.

The table was filled with every wolf in the pack that happened to be at the estate. Killua recognized a few of them, and Gon smiled at every one of them as if he had known them for years. He would wave eagerly as they were coming to join the meal, and he shook hands with those that introduced themselves. 

One difference Killua noticed, though, was the fact that hunger seemed to have gotten the best of Gon again as soon as they were within sniffing-distance of the meal. Gon wasn’t territorial, though, even as his mouth watered staring at the food in front of them that was all clearly meat. 

As soon as Morel gave them the go-ahead, Gon was snatching a leg of lamb meat and tearing into it with sharpened teeth bared. Killua stared, as did Kurapika, because the only logical explanation for Gon doing that would be that Gon didn’t know it was meat. 

Gon was too preoccupied to notice, or to care, that he was the center of attention. He ripped into the lamb meat with a hum of delight mixing with a satisfied growl deep in his throat. It rumbled in his chest as he swallowed the food down and went in for more, ravenous. His pupils were dilated like they had been the night before, his irises warping the whites of his eyes until they were nonexistent. 

Gon dropped a parcel onto Killua’s plate, and then another, before going in for himself. Killua shared a look with Kurapika, who shrugged innocently and distracted themself with their phone.

Things didn’t get weird until the end of the meal.

That was when Killua realized how it was actually possible for the dust to pick up footprints on the walls. 

It started when the crew got together in the living room to organize the “shuttle system,” as Leorio called it. Since there would be a total of a dozen participants—Morel tapped out on this event, which left Killua and Kurapika with a car full of mindless dogs—they needed to divvy up driving. With the griffin in everyone’s system except Killua and Kurapika, they became designated drivers. 

Knuckle clapped his hands on Gon’s shoulders as they were getting ready to go. “You need shoes, buddy,” he said. 

Gon bristled at the suggestion, hair puffing up in an instant. He shot out of Knuckle’s grasp with enough force to send him ricocheting off of Leorio and onto the couch. Leorio scrambled to catch his balance, only to be knocked into again when Gon kicked a foot out and screamed, “No shoes!”

“Gon!” Killua gawked, shrieking with the rest of the guys when Gon started to whip off his shirt. 

“No clothes!” Gon screamed, slapping his tank top into Leorio’s face. Leorio sputtered in alarm, glasses splayed crookedly across his face as Gon ducked and dodged Knuckle’s attempts to catch him.

Gon bounced from the couch as Knuckle all but dove at him. He used the wall to kick off, hands forward. He vaulted off of the coffee table with a flip that knocked him straight into Colt, who juggled him like he was trying to catch a football. He grabbed Gon around the waist, and Gon wiggled and kicked like mad as Knuckle, red-faced and furious, weaseled him into his tank top again. 

“I swear to God if you go streaking across Thir13en I’m going to punt you to Jupiter,” Knuckle hissed, straining as Gon’s head at last popped into view. 

Gon rocketed out of Colt’s grasp. With a hand on Knuckle’s shoulder, he flipped away, his feet immediately springing off the floor the second they made contact. The speed of his ascent sent the wall quaking where he bounded off and ricocheted into Killua. 

There, he ceased motion.

Killua’s heart was beating rapidly in his chest. For a split second, he thought Gon had lost his mind. 

They left the estate then with Gon still stuck to Killua like a leech. They clamored in to their designated vehicles—Kurapika returning to their car, and Killua taking the wheel of Morel’s van. The sun had since sense, and in its fading glow on the horizon, they exited the estate driveway and were on their way to downtown Yorknew once more. All the while, Gon refused to buckle up and took to kneeling on his seat, his arms latched around the back of his chair as his new pack mates fully indulged Gon’s spastic behavior. 

Thir13en was in the warehouse district of Yorknew, where large, brick buildings and dusty, concrete structures became canvases for graffiti. The neon lights blinked and flashed overhead, painting color across the windshield as Killua drove them into the nearest parking structure with Kurapika’s car pulling in shortly after them. Killua stuffed the ticket onto the dash after parking, and stepped out under the tungsten lights to the commotion of everyone in their group talking at once, energy at an all-time high. 

Killua’s skin prickled. The energy buzzed under the surface, and it dragged up his arms and across the back of his neck where Gon threw his arm around Killua’s shoulders and said, “Thanks for introducing me to your friends.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” Killua muttered, eyes squinted at the scene Leorio was making on the hood of Kurapika’s car. 

“Have you been clubbing before?” Gon asked, and the touch of his breath against Killua’s cheek told him that Gon was invading, in more ways than one, Killua’s personal space bubble. 

Killua cleared his throat awkwardly. “Yeah. With Kurapika and Leorio,” he said. “Leorio has free entry to pretty much every supernatural establishment in Yorknew, so when he isn’t working, he’s clubbing.”

“What about you?”

“What about me?” Killua said, wrinkling up his nose. He turned to face Gon, and the proximity had Killua going crosseyed to meet Gon’s dark pupils. 

“Is it fun, I guess? I don’t know what to expect,” he said. 

Killua swallowed hard, the nervous sweat returning tenfold. He brushed Gon off of him and plucked at the front of his sweater to air it out. “It’s fine. I don’t know. It’s probably more fun drunk, but that isn’t exactly in my cards.”

Gon pouted at him, and Killua rolled his eyes against the heat that flared up to his cheeks. He didn’t want Gon to think that he had completely  _“grown up”_ since their last endeavor. Killua’s indifference to Thir13en at the time he, Leorio, and Kurapika went, perhaps, was in part due to his hesitance to  _expand his horizons_ without Gon at his side.

Participating in new experiences on his own felt like he was betraying the closeness of their friendship as children.

“Well, you’re gonna have more fun this time around because  _I’m here_ , and if it’s up to me, it’ll be the best ever.”

Killua sucked in a deep breath with every intention of exhaling obscenities at Gon for being such a sap, but they were interrupted by Knuckle pushing them along after the group and out of the parking structure. Killua refrained from ducking out of Gon’s grasp, teeth ground together so tightly they squeaked. Gon grinned cheekily from beside him as they emerged out on the sidewalk. He put a hand on the elastic waistband of his joggers, and Killua double-checked to make sure that Gon was actually wearing shoes now. He was, and Killua was certain that they were hand-me-downs from the pack’s vast collection of shoes their pack mates grew out of. 

Killua scowled across the road. He wished he could scowl at himself, but even his disgust in himself wouldn’t stop him from thinking,  _Gon looks good in hightop basketball sneakers_ .

He cursed his attraction to fashion. How dare it expose him like that?

Thir13en was at the end of the street with a rounded marquee stretched over the corner. It was lined with a vibrant pink neon strip, which then haloed a teal wire looped into a cursive logo. The number “13” was juxtaposed on top in bold magenta that flicked intermittently to the face of a clown. 

The lights flitted over their faces as they waited in line and, in time, passed beneath the black lit doorway. Leorio was still talking with the bouncer when Killua and Gon made their way inside. Gon dropped his arm from around Killua’s shoulders as they left the street behind them and emerged beneath a sky of pink and blue.

Blue LED lights were circled into a patchwork across the ceiling. The group was immediately washed over in bright lights and vibrant music pulsing across the floor. Killua felt it beating in his chest, humming in his stomach where the bass settled like blood pumping in his veins. His hair glowed under the black lights and his fair skin seemed to shimmer as he looked down at himself and the white laces on his combat boots. 

Up ahead, Knuckle called Gon’s name. Killua barely heard it, but judging from the way Gon perked up next to him, and the eager look on Knuckle’s face, he realized it was an invitation to jump into the mosh pit. 

Gon grabbed Killua by the wrist and dragged him over to the railing overlooking the dance floor. Killua staggered after him, struck by the intensity of the crowd down below, writhing and swaying below. From over the railing, they could see everything—the DJ, the closed curtains over a theatre stage, even the bar tucked away on the ground floor on the outskirts of the dance floor.

The pack was already on the move, flooding the staircase spiraling down to the dance floor. Killua stared at them all as they filed out down below. His eyes trailed to where Leorio was just joining them. 

“What do you think?” Leorio asked Gon, whose black eyes were glittering under the pink lights swinging to and fro over the crowd. 

“Amazing!” Gon said, pushing himself up onto the tips of his toes. Arms straight, hands clasped on the railing, he breathed in the smell of the club—the sweat, the laughter, the alcohol and smoke in the air. 

Kurapika joined them then, leaning against the railing beside Killua. “I’m getting drinks for the guys. Want anything?” they said. 

“Just water is fine,” Killua said. 

“Werewolves can have alcohol?” Gon asked.

“Ah, just a few liquors,” Leorio said. “But you could call us lightweights. One shot and you’re hammered.”

Gon hummed thoughtfully. Killua raised an eyebrow, wondering if Gon was actually  _seriously_ considering crossfading. “What’s everyone else having?” Gon asked, leaning over Killua to ask. 

Kurapika relayed the orders, and Gon pondered over them before deciding, “I’ll have… a rum and coke.”

“Sweet tooth,” Killua teased. 

“I don’t like the taste of alcohol,” Gon whined. “Mito-san and I went to a vineyard when we were traveling.”

“Maybe that’s why you got so sick so soon,” Kurapika said. “Grapes are dangerous and can cause serious illnesses.”

“Maybe that’s it,” Gon gasped, but Killua was too busy picturing Gon, of all people, on a wine tasting tour. Swirling wine around a glass wasn’t exactly  _energetic entertainment_ . 

Kurapika left to put the order in. Meanwhile, Gon lunged after them, all but bouncing on the soles of his sneakers as Kurapika entertained him for as long as it took for them to pass the stairwell. Killua stuck to the railing as Gon shot like a rocket down the stairs and into the throng of people. The pack was still on the outskirts, waiting for him, and Killua laughed as Gon flung himself at Knuckle and Colt, swinging them into the thick of things.

Leorio chuckled from beside him. He stuffed his hands in the pockets of his slacks and said, “He’s a spitfire, huh?”

“Yeah, definitely,” Killua agreed. He glanced over at Leorio, who offered a faint smile in reply. Killua’s smile dissolved into a grin that had Leorio swallowing nervously. “So… you and Kurapika?”

Leorio jolted, cheeks pink. He pushed a finger to his lips to silence Killua, hissing, “ _Don’t_ say a  _thing_ .”

Killua brushed him off, throwing his head back and laughing. When he had left Yorknew for Whale Island, Leorio had yet to confess a thing—aside from a drunken rant for Killua’s ears only. The pack didn’t know, which was a shock, but then again, it was only proof of another werewolf stereotype: A wolf’s situational blind eye. 

“‘Pika still has an aversion to wolves, so I haven’t pushed anything,” Leorio explained.

“You know that’s just their short tolerance for bullshit,” Killua said.

“I know, I know,” he sighed, rolling his eyes. “In any case, I’m not interested in ruining my friendship with the person who’s responsible for making the restaurant  _happen_ , you know what I mean? Like, if things go terribly wrong, what will happen to the farm?”

“They have a sense of responsibility, you know. They wouldn’t up and leave the restaurant.”

_Would they?_

Killua second-guessed it, rubbing a hand to his chin as Leorio went on to explain what he feared was inevitable: Kurapika’s disgust of him and werewolves in general. More often than not, vampires loathed wolves. “Vegetarian” vampires hunted for the same prey, and though Kurapika wasn’t a “vegetarian” vampire, they still shared some of the same views.

 

* * *

 

Several minutes prior to Killua’s conversation with Leorio, a curious thing happened on the top floor of Thir13en. 

Hisoka’s attention shifted.

In the dark of the club penthouse, illuminated only by the stretch of wide, open windows, the owner of the nightclub caught wind of something. Something  _delicious_ .

Hisoka scented the air, turning away from the task at hand. He raised a hand to his chin, his perfectly manicured, shockingly pink nails trailing along the length of his jaw as he contemplated the aroma. It was  _sweet_ , and while he was more in tune with spiciness, there was something  _sharp_ about this tang in the air. He appreciated it, enough to ignore the delectable snack pinned to the pool table. 

“Do you smell that, Machi?” he said, shifting his weight to his opposite foot. With his hand on his waist, hip cocked, he glanced over at his pink-haired friend.

Machi licked a trail of blood from her wrist where it snaked down her pale skin. Her sharp eyes flitted to where Hisoka stood, his eyes dilating as the aroma heightened. He had smelled it once before, but that happened on a day much like this. It was feasting day, the day his appetite was at its greatest, and when his prey was already ensnared. 

His target was no longer the man on the pool table.

“No,” Machi said.

Hisoka pursed his lips at her. Of course she would be irritated with him, and as he clicked his tongue on the roof of his mouth, it was decided: Machi and their meal wouldn’t satisfy him. He needed to find where that delightful fragrance was coming from. 

“Are you quite done?” she sighed, and punctuated it by gesturing to the body. “It’ll go bad if we wait any longer.”

Hisoka spared a glance at the sniffling, gagged man on the pool table. The gut wound was starting to seep across the green velvet surface. A sweat had broken out across the man’s entire body, and the savory note of salt churned Hisoka’s stomach. 

He had more of a sweet tooth, as it was.

“No,” he declared, propping both hands on his hips. “Help yourself, darling, I have something better in mind.”

Before leaving, he took a finger and dragged his nail across the man’s abdomen. The muscles underneath his pink manicure trembled and tensed as he dug into the wound and lathered his finger in gore. He licked it like a lolly pop as he left Machi to her own devices and the meal on the table.

_Consider this the appetizer before the main dish_ , Hisoka thought to himself as he popped his finger clean and began to descend the stairs to the ground floor of the club.

The music reached him before long, and as the bass hummed in his chest, so too did the mouth-watering flavor assaulting his palate. He dragged the pad of his index finger along his lipstick, checking for drool, because  _fuck it_ , if that wasn’t the single most pleasant experience in his entire existence, he didn’t know  _what_ was. To top it off, he had been haunted by this flavor since the day it graced his presence. 

Thankfully, on this day, he was only entertaining Machi. Unluckily for him all those weeks ago, he had just been passing by. He wasn’t going to let this taste go to waste this time around.

Hisoka came to stand at the cusp of the club, upon the balcony overlooking the dance floor, the bar, the entryway. He scanned the room before closing his eyes, lifting his chin, and following the scent with his keen nose. 

It remained concentrated near the entrance, pooling like oozing maple syrup on a cool, spring afternoon. Sluggish, dormant, the tension of a single drop beginning to consolidate at the pinnacle of perfection. If he moved now, he could catch his prey before it decided to move.

Though, he did  _love_ the chase. 

A sinister smile spread across his lips as he released the deep breath in his chest. He opened his eyes, and at once, he found his target.

The black lights cast an angelic glow around his prey’s head of snow-white hair. 

Hisoka’s heart beat faster in his chest, warmth spreading across his entire being as His Prey shifted, as if noticing, for a split second, that it was being watched. That  _Hisoka_ had it in his sights. That, by the end of the night, His Prey would recognize this exact moment as foreboding. 

“My, my…” Hisoka hummed, licking his tongue across his bottom lip. “That  _is_ precious.”

Only then did Hisoka notice the man standing with His Prey. A dull look dampened Hisoka’s excitement, and he all but rolled his eyes as he hissed under his breath, “ _Leorio_ . Of course.”

Hisoka descended the spiral staircase from the balcony. He maneuvered through the crowd of people on the outskirts of the dance floor railing, all the while his sights remained on His Prey and that blundering werewolf. The closer he came, the more his heart pumped faster, the heat in his body swelling in places that weren’t appropriate for the public eye. It just made his smile wider, wickeder, as His Prey caught his eyes from several paces away.

At the motion of His Prey turning, Leorio looked up and said, “Ah, Hisoka! Killua, meet the club owner, Hisoka Morow.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ghoul boy Hisoka comin' in clutch.


	8. 8 x prey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Killua has a new Meat Admirer, Kurapika wants/needs to get high, and Gon stirs up trouble at Thir13en.

**K** illua’s eyes widened, a gasp catching in the back of his throat. He swallowed hard at the strong, unwieldy air surrounding Thir13en’s owner. Hisoka, an unreasonably tall, lanky man with a presence seeped with murderous intent. It didn’t take much effort for Killua’s enhanced eyes to gather the obvious signs of another being entirely. 

It came in the form of a black visage coloring the edges of Hisoka’s figure, shimmering in a transparent coat. It was a detail many sensible individuals would stamp out to blend in, but Hisoka didn’t seem to bother with formalities,  _or_ hiding his obvious connections to his demonic origins.

“A ghoul,” Killua said, bristling at the satanic smile on Hisoka’s face. The feeling of being prey was hard to ignore after experiencing it firsthand, and this look Hisoka gave him made Killua feel like it. He felt like he was in the underbrush again, looking into the eyes of the feral werewolf that had—

Killua shook his head and took a step back, refusing to take his eyes off of Hisoka.

“Quit looking at me like that,” Killua said. They were in public, in a  _club_ —people had to notice the murderous aura radiating from Hisoka’s general direction.

In fact, it seemed people weren’t entirely as dumb as Killua thought, since they were all now giving Leorio, Killua, and Hisoka a wide birth.

“Aren’t you sweet,” Hisoka drawled, leaning forward. Killua jumped back into Leorio. “I could just  _eat you up—_ ”

“Not on my watch,” Leorio said, stepping in front of Killua. He put his arms out to block Hisoka, who straightened up with a dull scowl.

A shudder shocked up Killua’s spine and left him immobilized for the split second it took Hisoka to grab one of Leorio’s arms and shove him around by the shoulder. He twisted Leorio’s arm against his back and pushed him into the railing, hard enough to send Leorio bending forward over the edge. 

Killua never dealt with ghouls, but he knew from Illumi that they were dangerous and not to be tampered with. If Illumi held them at such a high standard, then Killua couldn’t stop himself from feeling helpless in the second it took Hisoka to completely restrain Leorio. 

Hisoka leant forward, pressed up against Leorio’s back so that he could whisper in Leorio’s ear, “I’d kill you now, but then I’d have my reservation at your restaurant canceled.”

With that, Hisoka shoved Leorio once more before backing away. Leorio clasped onto the railing with both hands, gasping. 

Killua flinched as Hisoka turned his sharp, slitted pupils onto him. The whites of his eyes were entirely black, and his bright red pupils all but glowed when the club lights flashed over them. An electric flash struck through Killua’s entire body, sparking at his fingertips and curling up his forearms. 

Hisoka’s grin widened, each of his teeth sharpening to a fine point as he licked his lips and said, “That will only make you taste better,  _Killua_ .”

Before either of them could move a step, the crowd shrieked as something came flying up the other side of the railing. The people around them gasped as Killua turned to the dark silhouette haloed by the club lights. Leorio scrambled forward, reaching out over the railing to grab a hand from the air and haul them over the railing. 

It was Gon.

Gon gripped the railing and pushed himself up, sneakers poised on the railing. A snarl ripped up his throat, and it sent Leorio scrambling back, all but tripping over his feet to catch his balance.

Hisoka blinked at the sight. The werewolf in Gon was exceedingly obvious now as a pair of massive canines had grown in during the process of that impressive vertical leap. On top of that, his claws were back, his muscles trembling under the force of the growl that rivaled the beat blaring on the speakers. 

Gon skidded onto the concrete between Hisoka and Killua. He crouched low, teeth bared in a savage, territorial display. 

Hisoka stared, wide-eyed, at the both of them. When he blinked, his black scleras vanished, and all that remained was the glint of red on his irises and the slit of his pupils. He straightened up, a finger fingering on his lips as Gon continued to growl and snarl at him with an intensity completely unlike the way he had first interacted with Leorio.

Hisoka tipped his head to the side and said, “Well, this is a development. Perhaps I’ll see you two around in the near future.”

With that, he turned on his heels with a small ta-ta wave. Killua stared after him, the tension fading bit by bit from his muscles until he felt composed enough to mutter, “Highly unlikely.”

Somehow, Killua found it hard to believe that a ghoul would back off just because a spunky werewolf got between him and his prey. 

Gon straightened up after a long moment of being stared at by everyone within staring distance. He ran his tongue along the ridges of his sharpened fangs as they retracted fast enough to leave behind a long-lasting stinging sensation from the pressure. He rubbed his hand over his cheek as he turned his scowl away from where Hisoka retreated and reached for Killua.

“Are you okay?” he asked. 

Killua blinked, surprised. “Y-Yeah, I’m fine. I can take care of myself,” he said. He knew Gon wouldn’t try to make him feel inferior, and he appreciated the interruption, but it still pissed him off that the wolves that turned his friend also took away his friend’s confidence in his ability to fend for himself.

Hurt flickered across Gon’s face. His brow tensed, a deep frown setting in. Killua raised his eyebrow at Gon, only to flinch when Gon’s eyes turned glassy. “G-Gon!” he exclaimed, cheeks flushing in embarrassment when tears started to flood over Gon’s eyelashes.

“I-I was so  _worried_ !” Gon cried, latching onto Killua’s front like suddenly they were two magnets and there was no way in hell they’d separate without some sort of intervention. Try as he might, Killua couldn’t push Gon away. 

He stared at Leorio from over Gon’s shoulder as Gon’s tears leaked through his athletic jacket. Hesitantly, Killua dropped his arms around Gon and sighed. Gon shifted with him, and he remained perfectly aware of the fact that he and Gon were  _hugging_ simply because Gon couldn’t get his shit together.

“I was so afraid he was gonna hurt you,” Gon said. 

Killua gave him a pat on the shoulder and said, confidently, “You’re overreacting. He’s gone now, it’s fine.”

Gon kept his arms tightly around Killua even as Leorio approached, straightening his suit. Gon shifted to look back at Leorio, which left one of Killua’s arms free to fall to his side. Gon’s eyes were still teary, and he looked absolutely pathetic. 

“I have to say, I never expected a ghoul to act out with so many witnesses,” Leorio confessed. 

“How did he come to own a  _nightclub?_ ” Killua said, unable to keep the accusatory tone away. 

He didn’t blame Leorio, but at the moment, Hisoka’s black scleras were still in his mind. Not to mention the fact that Hisoka seemed to file his nails to a sharp point. Ghouls didn’t have claws, and their canines were only slightly sharper than a human’s. Their strength, however, rivaled that of vampires and werewolves alike. Their skin was tough to break and more comparable to vampires in that regard.

“I don’t know, to be honest,” Leorio confessed. “I’ve had very few conversations with the guy, but I’ll tell you this much: He’s weird as fuck.”

“I gathered as much,” Killua muttered. “I’d prefer avoiding him at all costs, if possible.”  _It felt like the guy was two seconds away from ripping my guts out_ , he thought, shuddering at the image of his blood spilling like water from a faucet all over the club floor and seeping between the metal spokes of the railing ledge.

They were interrupted by the sound of footsteps approaching fast from the stairway. Leorio turned and Kurapika came into view, hurrying across the floor as they said, “What the hell happened? I heard Gon jumped an entire floor.”

“Ah, well, that’s simple: We had a run-in with the club owner ghoul, Hisoka,” Leorio explained. “It seems he’s taken an interest in our dear friend Killua.”

“Gon got him to back off, though,” Killua reassured Kurapika, whose shoulders were now tense, fists clenched at their sides.

Kurapika’s eyes flashed a bright, scarlet red. A burst of magic sent their hair swirling as they said, “Where is he?” Their hair settled, eyes still shifted, fangs prominent in their sneer.

Leorio waved his hands quickly and said, “He left. He has a very distinct palate—I imagine he smelled Killua from the penthouse.”

“How do you know that?” Kurapika seethed, turning on him. “If he’s targeting Killua—”

“He won’t get near Killua again,” Gon promised, shaking his head. He steeled himself, somewhat recovered, but Killua couldn’t ignore the sight of Gon swaying a little, or how he blinked fast as if he was suddenly dizzy. 

“You’re shitfaced—you can’t stop a ghoul,” Kurapika all but snarled at him.

“I am not shit-faced,” Gon said, hiccuping midway. He shook his head quickly, chin up. He rubbed his hands over the tear tracks on his face and insisted, “I am definitely lucid and not seeing double.”

“He’s seeing double,” Killua sighed. 

“Am not!” Gon cried indignantly.

Soon after, Gon swayed a little, putting a hand to his head. At the same time, Kurapika opened their mouth to shout something, only to hiccup. They slapped a hand over their mouth, the other over their stomach with a lurching motion. The action was so familiar but bizarre on Kurapika, a known vampire. The only excuse Killua could think of was that Kurapika drank bad blood. 

As Kurapika put a hand on the railing with another small, high-pitched hiccup, Leorio’s furrowed brow tensed into a look of concern. “What is it, what’s wrong?” he said, frantic. 

Kurapika shook their head, eyes closed. “It’s nothing,” they said. They cleared their throat and insisted, “I’m  _fine_ . Let’s fine someplace to sit.”

Killua was caught between helping Gon and helping Kurapika, but when Leorio took charge of Kurapika, Killua moved to Gon. He took Gon by the shoulders and pushed him ahead, guiding him through the crowd after Leorio to the booths on the far side of the club, in the opposite direction of where Hisoka vanished.

As they sat down, Kurapika slumped back in the seat with their eyes closed. A blissful sigh escaped them, a hand over their cheek. “I haven’t felt like this in ages,” they confessed, shaking their head. 

Killua pushed Gon in ahead of him before scooting in and asking, “Like what?”

Kurapika blinked their red eyes open and confessed, “I took a griffin shot.”

“But griffin doesn’t affect vampires,” Leorio said, perched at the end of the booth. He shared a look with Killua, who shrugged. He didn’t know any different. “Your eyes are still red as well.”

Kurapika leant forward over the table, arms slumped on the surface. They held their hands out, palms up, and explained, “I’m the least fond of ghouls.”

“I thought you were the least fond of other vampires,” Killua deadpanned.

“They come in a close second,” Kurapika said, pointing a finger at Killua. Their eyes blinked slowly before continuing. “Werewolves come in fifth, right after sirens and daemons.”

“This makeshift hit list is great and all, but can we get to the part where you  _are_ affected by griffin?” Leorio insisted.

“I’m getting there,” Kurapika said. “Where I grew up in Lusko, there was a large population of dhampirs.”

Dhampirs, otherwise known as half-vampires, were curious cases. Vampire society tended to isolate themselves from humans, so relationships with humans were almost as uncommon as werewolf turnings. Humans were treated socially as inferior, as food, and therefore, not capable of having meaningful relationships with Vampires. Turned vampires were not considered dhampirs, which made the dhampir community incredibly small—human partners were often turned before pregnancy, anyway.

“You’re a dhampir,” Killua said, quietly. 

Kurapika nodded, and the confirmation was enough to send Killua slumping back, shocked. He wondered why he didn’t notice it sooner, but perhaps it was due to the fact that dhampirs were so rare, most people went their entire life without meeting one. 

“How? I never met any dhampirs in Lusko,” Killua said, shaking his head.

Kurapika clenched their hands together and said, “It’s because the dhampirs were hunted and killed. Since we’re part human, we’re edible to ghouls. And since a ghoul’s skin is tougher than our own, they’re able to tear dhampir flesh easily.

“There are ghouls who are…  _connoisseurs_ of human flesh. They hunt for the best flavor of human. Dhampirs are hard to come by, so they’re considered a delicacy. Much the same way werewolves are, but wolves are more common. Dhampirs are both human and vampire, and werewolves are both human and wolf.”

Killua shivered at the idea of it. Of  _Hisoka_ hunting delicacies.  _I’m just a human, though. There’s nothing remarkable about me in particular_ , he thought, frowning. He was grateful he lived in blissful ignorance of ghouls until now. As for Kurapika, though, he felt a tinge of fear at the thought of living like that— _knowing_ that there was a species out there that sought to exterminate their existence. Vampires could keep their prey alive, sure, but ghouls…

It was certain death for their prey.

“I never knew, ‘Pika,” Leorio said, shoulders drooping.

“I’m not surprised. I’ve masked the human in me as much as I could before going to the academy,” Kurapika said. “Ghouls couldn’t scent me even if they tried. But it sounds like Hisoka’s palette doesn’t have a preference for the savory type.”

“What do you mean? You smell quite nice,” Gon said, unashamed. From beside Kurapika, Leorio stammered with a sense of defensive agency. For Gon to compliment Kurapika—it was a surefire way of pissing Leorio off. 

Killua laughed at the look on Leorio’s flustered face. 

“Killua has an unnaturally sweet taste,” Kurapika said. 

Gon’s sleepy affect vanished with a sharp, albeit slurred, snarl, “What do you mean by  _that?_ ”

Kurapika shrugged casually and said, “His blood is sweet. I don’t blame Hisoka for craving it, but that doesn’t make it right. It makes me wonder if the rest of Killua has a stronger flavor, since ghouls don’t generally base their preferences off of blood.”

Gon slumped over the table, moping, “Everyone’s tasted Killua except  _me_ .”

“Gon!” Killua gawked, shoving his friend in the arm. “Kurapika’s the only one who’s tasted me! You make it sound like I throw my blood around like crazy.”

Gon craned his neck over and clamped his sharp teeth onto Killua’s raised arm. Killua bristled with a yelp, trying to yank his arm away, but Gon’s fangs were hooked in his skin and tugging at it.

The sharp tinge of pain was nothing compared to the saliva from Gon’s tongue laving across his arm as he whined against Killua, “I cawnt weh  _go!_ ” 

Kurapika’s pupils abruptly dilated, their nose twitching at the scent of blood in the air. They reached over to pry Gon off, saying, “Gentle, gentle—we can’t have Killua slewing blood everywhere in a place like this—”

Gon whined some more as Killua cursed and all but slammed his forehead into the table, his arm extended for Kurapika’s help. Leorio was looking around the club nervously, fully aware of the fact that a few people had started looking at them. The likelihood of every set of eye belonging to sharp olfactories was too high.

Kurapika pressed a thumb against Killua’s arm and, hooking their other hand against Gon’s teeth, gently raised Gon’s canines out of Killua’s arm. Killua let out a gasp of breath when it was over, saying, “For fuck’s sake, Gon…”

Kurapika knelt on the cushion beside Gon, still leant over to tend to Killua’s arm. “Let me heal it for you,” they suggested, but before they could even muster up the saliva for it, Gon was slapping his hands over Killua’s wound to stop the blood.

“ _Fuck!_ ” Killua cursed, jumping at the streak of pain up his arm. 

“I’m sorry!” Gon moaned, slumping against Killua’s side. He all but hugged Killua’s wounded arm, his hands clenched firmly over the wound. “Let me fix it—”

“It’s not gonna get fixed like that!” Killua said, trying to tug his arm free. It just made Gon whine louder. At last, Killua slumped, giving up. 

Leorio stood from the table, looking a touch too panicked for Killua’s sake. He looked around at the eyes that were now fully focused on Killua. “Uh… guys, we should…”

“Go,” Kurapika agreed.

Kurapika lunged out of the booth from Leorio’s side and reached over to pull Killua up and, likewise, Gon. There was a group of vampires in the booth next to them, and Kurapika bared their fangs at them when their attention lingered a bit too long on Killua all but running with Gon at his side, Leorio on his other flank. Leorio called back for Kurapika to get a move on. Satisfied that they successfully declared Killua off limits, Kurapika huffed and marched onwards, leaving the table behind and the club in the background.

 

* * *

 

“Kurapika won’t say it so I will: You’re both absolute idiots,” Leorio seethed, his anger levels as average as usual. 

Killua rolled his eyes from where he was posted at Kurapika’s kitchen counter bar top. He had his arm out and, by some miracle, Gon had released the wound and was now having his hands vigorously scrubbed by Leorio at the sink. Leorio grumbled under his breath some more as he went at Gon’s fingernails with a toothbrush.

While Gon wasn’t looking, Kurapika ducked down and laved their tongue along the teeth marks. The chemicals from Kurapika’s saliva stung initially, but shortly thereafter, numbness spread through his bones. By tomorrow, the wound would be gone. 

But for Gon’s drunken sake, Kurapika then took a roll of gauze and wrapped up the bite marks. 

_Thank you_ , Killua thought as Kurapika gave his wrist a squeeze before leaving to put the first aid kit away.

Leorio was still grumbling away incessantly even after he dried off Gon’s hands. Gon stood there like a puppet, pupils blown out, head quite clearly woozy. Leorio ruffled Gon’s hair before chucking the towel at the counter and marching off with his hands on his hips, shaking his head.

“Ridiculous,” he asserted as he went to the foyer hallway. Before leaving, he leant back and called out to Kurapika, who was in restroom sticking the first aid kit under the sink. “I’ll bring your car around tomorrow.”

“Oh, no, that isn’t necessary. I can still drive you back to the club,” they said.

“Right, say that again when you aren’t griffin,” Leorio drawled. Killua snickered from the countertop.

“Griffin just makes non-werewolves see colors, Leorio, it doesn’t incapacitate a person,” they said, curtly, emerging from the bathroom. “My hallucinations are quite manageable.”

“No. You’re staying here, I’ll take the car,” Leorio insisted. He pointed a finger to himself and said, “Accidental designated driver since evidently  _you_ were the one who stole the last griffin shot, thank you very much.”

Kurapika pursed their lips before hissing, “Fine, have it your way.”

“You’re sassier when you’re high. Like a classic, suburban mom.”

“You’re still intolerable when I’m high,” they said.

Leorio gave them a thumbs up before disappearing down the foyer hall. A moment later, the front door opened, the keys were taken off of the hook on the wall, and Leorio called out, “See you guys later!” 

With that, the door slammed shut, and they were left in the broad silence of Kurapika’s empty apartment. 

Killua ran his hand along the bandage, his arm numb all the way up to his elbow. When he looked up, he found Gon closer. Gon’s eyes were down, only slightly focused on Killua’s bandage. 

“I’ll see you two in the morning, then,” Kurapika said. “I imagine Knuckle is planning another eventful day.”

“I wouldn’t doubt it,” Killua said. Despite the way Gon had spontaneously bit him, he knew the odds of that happening again were slim to none. He reached out for Gon’s shoulder and gave him a squeeze and a gentle, encouraging nudge towards the guest bedroom.

Once inside the room, Killua shut the door and unlaced his boots. He kicked them aside and left his jeans and shirt with them. With only one functioning arm, the task took longer than expected, so when he went to check on Gon, he was surprised to find that Gon hadn’t done a damn thing. 

Killua pushed Gon onto the bed before crouching down to yank off Gon’s hightop sneakers. It was a task considering his wounded arm was useless until Kurapika’s numbing chemicals dissipated, so he took to unlacing each shoe with his good hand and pushing his feet against Gon’s leg when he pulled the shoes off. By the end, he was thoroughly exhausted. 

Before he could collapse in his makeshift bed, Gon reached for the bandage wrap on his arm. Killua stilled, his eyes turning up to where Gon’s lips were pursed, brow tense in deep thought. He didn’t move until Gon moved, tipping, slowly, onto his side. 

Killua stood up, but Gon didn’t let go. 

“Gon, I need to go sleep,” Killua said. 

Gon closed his eyes and murmured, voice still slurred, “Sleep  _here_ .” 

Killua’s beating heart came to a harsh stop. The pressure from not being able to breathe flushed all of the color from his pale face. The energy, the excitement, the  _lightness_ he had felt in his chest transformed in the blink of his eyes. 

He wanted to say what he always did—to tell Gon to shut up because he couldn’t just  _say something like that_ —but to who’s benefit? They weren’t in public, Kurapika couldn’t hear them. Was it for the sake of his heart? By why should his heart matter here, where it had completely frozen in its tracks?

Killua swallowed hard as he leant over the bed. He pushed his knee into the comforter, and the shift in the mattress had Gon nestling in closer to the wall. Killua knelt on the covers, staring at where Gon’s fingers wrapped around his wounded, numb arm. If only he could feel that—the heat of Gon’s hand through the gauze.

It was bound to kickstart his heart again. 

When at last Killua came to rest with his back on the mattress, his eyes lifting from Gon, he breathed again. The sharp intake sent warmth through every fiber of his being before it all consolidated in his face, flushing his ears bright red. 

The energy was back, and it had a name.

_Shit_ , Killua thought as Gon trapped his wounded arm over his chest. Even if he couldn’t feel Gon’s heartbeat, he knew it was there, and steadier than his own because unlike Gon, Killua was on the cusp of existential hysteria.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEHEHE Hisoka WILL come back and he WILL fuck shit up and I WILL make sure his inner monologue is as uncomfortable to read as possible.


	9. 9 x prey

**K** illua woke the next morning feeling more exhausted than the night before, but altogether with it. With his existential crisis, though, a poisonous ache had settled in. He attributed his zombie-like sleepiness to that. 

He sat up with a groan, pulling a knee up to rest his elbow on as he put his hand through his hair and glowered at the door across the room. His wounded arm was prickling like static, andwhen he tried to lift it, it didn’t budge, for it was still stuck in Gon’s iron-like grasp. 

The movement, though, stirred Gon into waking with a long, drawn-out groan of discomfort. He turned towards Killua on his side with a half-sob of agony as he put one hand on his forehead. Killua looked away, cheeks pink, because unlike Gon, Killua was no longer blissfully unaware of just how much time he spent staring at Gon.

_I need to make some sort of time restriction on the number of minutes I can spend looking at that kid a day,_ Killua decided, cheek pressed to his wrist. He scowled at the bathroom door and wondered if this would impede the light energy in his chest.

He couldn’t believe he mistook Gon for his ticket to light magic. All this time, the feeling in his chest  _wasn’t_ , in fact, Gon’s deep connection to light magic. It was just Killua being a fucking  _idiot_ .

Killua didn’t look again until the entire bed jolted under him when Gon sprung up, throwing the blankets up with a little squeak of alarm. Killua looked, about to ask what the problem was, but Gon was slapping his hands all over himself, effectively dropping Killua’s hand. 

Gon stared at him then, eyes wide as could be. Killua clamped his mouth shut at the dust of pink on Gon’s cheeks as he said, “What…  _happened_ last night?”

Killua raised an eyebrow at him, only to hesitate again at the blush spreading across Gon’s cheeks. Gon,  _blushing_ . Killua looked down at himself and realized that he was only in his boxers, as he was most nights. 

Only this time, he was sharing a bed with Gon. 

He should have come to this conclusion sooner.

“We didn’t—!” Killua cried abruptly, heat flaring up to his face once more. “I would never—! You were shit faced, I’m surprised you’re still  _alive_ .”

Gon blinked at him, brow tense. He cut off whatever he was about to say in favor of clutching a hand to his stomach. A moment of silence passed. 

“ _Shit_ ,” Gon hissed, voice tight. He lunged up from the bed and scrambled over Killua. He leapt face-first to the bathroom where he skidded across the tile to hurl up whatever remained in his stomach. 

Killua took a deep breath, the poison in his chest seeping further.  _I would never_ , he had said, and his stupid, muddled brain wanted to believe that the look on Gon’s face was  _disappointment_ . 

Killua slapped both of his hands to his forehead once, twice, three times for good measure. 

When he got up, he left the room in nothing but his boxers and leaving Gon vomiting off in the bathroom. After the existential crisis the night before, he was no longer capable of shock, so finding Kurapika still in the living room didn’t faze Killua’s look of absolute exhaustion.

Kurapika was strewn across the chaise lounge with a pillow clutched to their chest, wide, vacant eyes stuck on the ceiling. When Killua entered the living room, though, Kurapika turned their head to meet Killua’s gaze. 

“Have you been lying there all night?” Killua asked.

“The ceiling was moving all night,” they explained, returning their attention to the task at hand. “So yes, all night.”

“You never cease to amaze me, ‘Pika,” Killua said with a teasing note. 

Kurapika’s blank expression morphed into annoyance. They groaned and said, “Not you, too. I get enough of that nickname from Leorio.”

“And you act like you don’t love every second of it,” Killua said. He continued on to the kitchen where he fetched a cup and filled it to the rim with water for Gon. “Gon’s vomiting in the bathroom.”

“I imagine so,” Kurapika said. “All that human blood… enough to screw with any wolf’s stomach.”

_I doubt he even remembers, if the way he woke up was anything to go by_ , Killua thought, a prick at the back of his throat reminding him of what he had said to Gon. He hadn’t paid enough attention to the reaction from Gon then, but now, his brain was warping Gon’s expression into things that it simply wasn’t. Like disappointment at Killua declaring that he would never try anything remotely romantic with Gon.

Realizing that certainly  _wasn’t_ the case anymore, Killua cleared his throat and said, voice cracking like a pubescent fool, “Anyway, we should go over to Knuckle’s place so Gon can eat. I doubt he’s at the point where he could cook his own meals.”

Kurapika tipped their head back to glance at Killua. It was that sort of look that reminded Killua that there were, in fact, mind readers, and he was grateful Kurapika wasn’t one of them. “I am not moving an inch until the ceiling stops moving.”

“Bet.”

“On your life or mine?”

“Mine is more of a gamble.”

“Point taken. You two go ahead.”

With that decided, Killua delivered the glass of water to the edge of the sink next to where Gon had collapsed on the bathroom tiles, completely unconscious after vomiting. At least, Killua assumed his friend was unconscious.

Killua nudged his foot against Gon’s leg. When nothing came of it, he nudged harder, and it elicited a pained groan from Gon. “No touch…” Gon whined, delirious.

“Get up and drink this water,” Killua ordered.

Gon thrashed his legs. “No,” he said.

Killua kicked his foot into Gon’s hip and pushed hard, like he was trying to pop a grape by crushing it under his boot. Gon yelped as Killua dug his heel in and threatened, “Drink the water, you blundering idiot, before I force it down your puny throat.”

“Ay! Yai, yai! Okay! Okay!” Gon screamed, floundering up to his feet. He used the counter for balance before leaning over it, all but slumping across the sink as he chugged the glass of water Killua laid out. 

Killua pulled a towel out from below the sink and tossed it at Gon when he was finished. “Take a shower so we can get moving.”

“What are we doing?” Gon said, voice stuffy. His eyes were bloodshot and Killua was certain that this was the first time in all his existence that he ever saw Gon with shadows under his eyes. 

“We’re going to Knuckle’s, duh,” Killua said.

He went to dress for the occasion and Gon shut the bathroom door. As Killua waited out in the living room where Kurapika remained dazed, Killua studied his options intently.

His purpose for going to Whale Island had completely shifted. He was no longer capable of finding his answers in Gon, since it seemed all that he had thought was light magic was simply his adolescent hormones getting in the way of his friendship with Gon. If he believed in total guilt, this was it. He had come back into Gon’s life and made a wedge in which he inserted himself. If he wanted to step back and let Gon live his life, he’d have to leave now rather than later. 

He couldn’t tear another hole in Gon’s heart. Total, all-encompassing guilt would follow, he was sure of it. 

Killua made up his mind. 

 

* * *

 

They took Killua’s motorcycle to the coast. The sky was bright that day, and patches of clouds stretched across the sky as they cruised up to Knuckle’s gravel driveway. Killua turned down it, passing beneath the shadows of the evergreen hedge along the way. Two of the guys were out front pitching a frisbee back and forth. The instant the bike came to a stop, Gon was bounding from his seat and leaping into play with a flurry of excited laughter. 

Killua cut the engine, propping his forearms on the handlebars. The sound of their arrival had brought Leorio out to the front yard, and Killua waved idly as he watched Stick pass the frisbee to Gon, who dove to catch it. As Gon curled into a summersault and popped back up in a ta-da! fashion, Leorio and the others all clapped. 

Leorio came to a stop beside Killua and pointed to the exposed gauze under the sleeve of his jacket. “How’s it holding up?” he asked. 

Killua tugged on the loose end of the gauze and unraveled it. He held up a flawless forearm, untouched and unscarred. “Like brand new,” he said. He examined it for himself as he pocketed the gauze in his jacket. 

Leorio glanced down at the bike and the fact that Killua had yet to leave it. “Something tells me you aren’t sticking around.”

“I’m leaving soon,” Killua said, confirming the suspicious look Leorio was giving him. Killua clasped his hands together and gave them a firm shake. “This… is my best route. I made a mistake going to Gon, but he has you guys now so… he’ll be fine,” he said. 

“Ah, so he doesn’t know then,” Leorio hummed. 

Killua shook his head, looking up at Leorio. Leorio adjusted his glasses with a sigh. “If I tell him, he’ll try to come with me. He needs you guys right now, not me,” Killua said. 

“He does need a pack, but…” Leorio started with a shrug, hands in his pockets, “he  _is_ just a pup right now. Until his wolf matures…”

“He needs a pack to get him there, though,” Killua insisted.

“He needs  _friends_ to get him there,” he said. 

Killua said nothing. He didn’t agree, and he knew Leorio, and he knew Leorio would push the matter. But his friend didn’t know the whole picture, so Killua couldn’t blame Leorio for insisting that Gon was better off with him.

“It doesn’t matter,” Killua said. “I came to Whale Island to start fresh, but I haven’t even _done_ _that_. It’s been three days and I haven’t even _started_ to make progress. So if Gon asks where I went, just… tell him I’m chasing a lead.”

“Really, is that it?” Leorio said, irritation seeping in. Killua couldn’t look at him. Instead, he let Leorio go on because it was on his mind anyway. “You’ll just up and leave him? That isn’t what friends  _do_ , Killua.”

_Yeah, well, friends don’t love their friends like I do_ , Killua wanted to say, just to shit on Leorio’s own situation. He knew he could be cold when he wanted to be, but he wasn’t heartless enough to bring Kurapika into this. 

“I’ll see you later, Leorio,” he said instead, picking the helmet off of the back seat where Gon left it. He stuck it on his head and kicked the bike into gear. 

The engine roared to life. He slowly circled it around before coming to a stop farther down the driveway where Gon had noticed him leaving and came to stop him. Killua dropped a foot onto the gravel and flicked up the visor on the helmet. 

Gon looked up from the bike and past the white-knuckle grip Killua had on the handlebars. Killua clenched his teeth so tightly that he feared the onset pressure on the inside of his skull would pop into a full-blown migraine. 

“I’ve got something to take care of,” he said, hoping he sounded casual enough for Gon to dismiss. 

“What is it? I’ll come with you,” Gon said, stepping aside as if to join him on the bike. 

Killua reached a hand back to cover the seat, stopping Gon in his tracks. “It’s to do with my magic. You stay here, focus on getting better. Eat whatever Knuckle gives you, yada, yada, yada,” he said, waving his hand dismissively in the air to erase the implication that he’d be back. He wasn’t sure of that and refused to say it out loud. 

He didn’t want to ruin Gon’s progress with his personal bullshit.

“Oh. Okay, I’ll see you later then,” Gon said with a firm nod. 

Gon backed away and off of the gravel shoulder. Killua’s eyes lingered on him after flicking the visor back down, but he knew he couldn’t stay. He revved the engine and pushed his foot off of the gravel. 

 

* * *

 

Perched on the brick ledge of a rooftop patio, Hisoka pressed his weight against his hand, leaning over the concrete edge, and breathing in the wind that carried that sweet, syrupy scent he committed to memory the night before. He squinted against the sunlight, a smile spreading across his face when his eyes met the shine over a white motorcycle helmet cutting down the street in the direction of the freeway. 

He glanced back at the apartment complex that Killua had left, the same one he had visited on multiple occasions—for his own purposes, mind you. He had no reason to visit again until now, with Machi observing from the outskirts of the situation with a repudiate frown. 

“I regret following you here,” she said as she leant a foot against the ledge. She swept herself up in one smooth movement, arms folded over her chest. Her casual, plain kimono dress billowed in the breeze as Hisoka let out an amused huff, his attention following the trail of Killua’s scent. A few blocks away, the scent shifted, fainter. 

Hisoka rose. “He’s on the freeway,” he said. 

“I’m not letting you borrow—”

“I’m borrowing your scooter,” he said in a light drawl. He stuck one foot off of the ledge and soon, the rest of him followed with it. 

As Hisoka plummeted towards the ground, Machi leant over and called after him, “It’s not a fucking scooter, asshat!”

Hisoka, with one arm out, caught hold of a lamp post branch. The metal creaked as he swept around it, slowing his descent to a gradual leap onto the concrete. He revealed a set of keys from his pocket, meeting Machi’s eyes along the way. She flipped him off from her post atop the neighboring apartment complex. 

Hisoka clutched the keys in his grasp and strode ahead. His black skinny jeans were well-fitted to his excessively long legs, his stride increasing until he was at a jog, the thrill pumping in his veins. His heart could barely stand it, pushing him to the brink of ecstasy as he twirled around the lamppost on the corner, the keys chiming in his outstretched hand. 

He may have put Machi in his bad graces, but  _fuck it_ , it was worth it. 

Hisoka leapt onto Machi’s bike. It was a sleek, flashy, and every bit of Machi as it was Hisoka. In fact, he liked to think she bought it with him in mind. The bright red Ducati was the same color as his windswept hair. 

He ran his hand along the the side of it and gave the handlebars a kiss. A purr caught in the back of his throat as he thought to himself,  _You’ll take me just where I need to go_ .

As he warmed up that blissful-sounding engine, he tugged the helmet on. He dragged his nails across the shimmery coat on the red helmet before sliding his fingers into Machi’s gloves. With that done, he revved the engine and, without further ado, tore off into the street with the speed and agility of a seasoned racer.

From there, he followed the scent onto the freeway. He tipped the Ducati with purpose, skirting between cars, weaving through traffic with not so much as a waver of hesitance in the face of eighty-mile-per-hour wind whistling over the glossy cover of the helmet. 

And then, a quarter of an hour later, he caught up with Killua. 

Hisoka pulled the Ducati up alongside Killua’s hybrid chopper. Hidden behind the tint of his helmet, Hisoka’s shit-eating grin shined bright as ever as he looked from the road ahead to Killua. 

Killua turned to glance at him once before focusing his eyes on the road again. When it became clear that Hisoka was purposefully matching his pace, though, he met Hisoka’s gaze again through the tinted lenses of their helmets. 

Hisoka wasn’t necessarily  _in tune_ with motorcycle culture, the understanding was clear. Hisoka had no intention of running His Prey off of the road— _What a shame that would be. I am anything but wasteful with my food_ , he thought, his tongue running over his lips as he crossed the centerline when they sought to overtake a car in Hisoka’s lane. When he pushed over, Killua shifted his bike closer to the right, making room for the both of them in one lane to continue on without a care.

They passed exit after exit. 

Curious, Hisoka continued his pursuit. He humored himself a patient person, and he considered this twelve hours after first meeting Killua to be an immense victory. If he could last this long, he could entertain another several hours on the road as Killua’s blissful, tantalizing, ejaculatory scent scattered to the wind. 

Hisoka purposefully rode downwind of it just to capture the remnants through the edges of his visor, all but trembling at the smell. 

It was the best fucking ride of his goddamn life. 

At last, at the two hour mark, His Prey took a sharp right down an exit ramp. Hisoka steered sharply after him, heart leaping in his throat from the thrill of this unexpected chase. He cruised up alongside Killua at the light where he turned, and circled into the parking lot of a quiet gas station. 

When their engines cut, the silence that ensued siphoned the casual nature of the joyride. Hisoka leant his forearms over the handlebars of Machi’s Ducati, the soles of his shoes scraping on the gritty concrete. He sucked in a deep breath that swelled in his chest, warmth spreading through him as he watched Killua stretch one leg out, sweeping it over the back seat of his chopper. He certainly made a show of his ass in those skinny jeans, though. 

Hisoka caught his tongue between his teeth as Killua turned to face him, lifting the visor on his helmet so Hisoka could get the full brunt of his annoyance.

“Who the hell are you and why are you tailing me,” Killua said, and as he did, he stepped forward with a snap of his fingers. The spark that crackled over Killua’s skin sent a jolt through every vein on Hisoka’s body, caught by the spike in Killua’s scent. It was like sugar, instantaneously caramelized.

Hisoka reached up and, in one fluid motion, removed his helmet. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yall I haven't been able to write in two days so I'M RUNNING OUT OF CHAPTERS. I really DON'T know what Killua's plan is—I was kinda thinking Heaven's Arena?? Bisky?? I don't know dudes!
> 
> Also if yall haven't read my BS before, when I go on these tangents where the two MCs split off or nothing romantic is happening, I try to make them as entertaining as possible so if you're DISAPPOINTED THAT GON AND KILLUA ARE SPLIT, DON'T WORRY. It won't last long and in the meantime I hope ya like these shenanigans lol


	10. 10 x prey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sarah (the author) struggles to conceptualize jenny as currency, and Killua ends up with an accidental road trip partner. Gon threatens people for intelligence and proceeds to hunt Killua down like a goddamn bloodhound with its nose to the ground, sniffing for its life.

**K** illua hissed out a few colorful words that fully encapsulated his body’s response to the spike of adrenaline in his system. He jerked away from the Ducati, a shiver of disgust rolling up his spine at the thought of having actually  _admired_ a Ducati that belonged to  _Hisoka Morow_ . 

A sly look spread across Hisoka’s face as he continued to lean against his handlebars. His grin showed every one of his lethal canines. 

“Oh, do continue. You smell even better when sparks fly,” Hisoka all but purred, perching his chin on his folded forearms.

Killua debated just hopping on his bike and losing the guy, but he knew as well as Hisoka that there was no way in hell his motorcycle could outrace a fucking  _Ducati_ . It didn’t seem fair that a ghoul like Hisoka could have such an epic ride but  _shit_ , there they were, defying logic. 

Killua threw his fists down and hissed, “Back off, I mean it.”

“I can’t hear a thing coming out of your pretty little mouth.”

“Go to hell,” he seethed as he snapped the visor over his eyes and turned back to the bike. 

If Hisoka attacked, at least he’d have his bike between him and that murderous bastard. He recalled what Kurapika had said—Kurapika, an almost- _vampire_ —and it just unnerved him all the more. If Hisoka  _really_ planned on killing him, he would have done it with or without witnesses, sure, but he would have done it by now, right?

Killua hesitated to mount his bike. He looked back at Hisoka, who was watching with that catlike grin on his face, his chin on his hands. Killua flicked his visor up again and said, “What the hell do you want, anyway? You’ve driven two hours for it.”

Hisoka hummed and said, “I’m mostly horny and hungry, but my curiosity has gotten the better of me.”

Killua shuddered, thinking,  _Too honest_ . “I can’t help with either of those first two,” he deadpanned. 

“Then perhaps you can help me with the third.”

“I take it whatever I say doesn’t matter to you,” he said. Hisoka merely smiled, eyes crinkled at the corners. Killua sighed, glancing off to the gas station. He could keep riding, but all the evidence pointed to Hisoka eventually tailing him until he stopped. He didn’t want to think about whether or not Hisoka’s likelihood for murder would spike in the cover of dark. 

He shifted his weight uncomfortably to his other foot. His ass already hurt from two hours on the bike, and he really didn’t want to ride through the night. “Fuck it,” he cursed, meeting Hisoka’s gaze. “How far are you planning on tailing me?”

“I’d estimate… until the end of the world.”

_Creepy bastard_ , Killua thought. “Fine. I just have to fill up on gas. I suggest you do the same,” he said. 

As he mounted his bike and rolled over to the filling stations, he couldn’t subdue the shudders that threatened to spark his fingers. This close to gasoline, though—he didn’t want to risk it. When he went to fill up his bike, he caught sight of Hisoka leaning between the posts to look at him, and he realized that a gas station was the perfect cover for Hisoka to murder him. He’d be without his electricity and he’d have to depend on the training his family gave. It would get him relatively far, but he couldn’t deny the fear that followed the visual of fighting a hungry (horny) ghoul.

 

* * *

 

They drove until they were forced to come to a stop at the docks to the far north of Yorknew. By then, it was past midday and edging closer to nightfall. Color smudged across the skies in warm yellows and pinks. The clouds were still spread out in wispy tufts overhead, but Killua could hardly focus on it. His attention was on the beast sitting calmly on the idle Ducati.

Killua sifted through his wallet, one foot propped up on his seat, his back leant into the handlebars. He thumbed through his cash with a sigh. Gas had certainly put him closer to the edge of a shitty situation—not  _quite_ as shitty as being stuck with Hisoka all but drooling at his side, but still terrible. 

He slapped the money into his palm and folded it up. He glanced out at the ocean before turning to Hisoka, knowing that that questionable bastard was still staring at him. “I need cash,” he said.

“There are plenty of ways of earning quick cash,” he replied, and the suggestive tone had Killua grimacing.

“Not illegal.”

“Hm, well, gambling is always an option.”

“I can’t fall into that pit again,” Killua sighed. He reclined back and folded his arms behind his head. The last time he let loose at a casino, he nearly got himself killed. After that, gambling became a vice that took months to break. 

Hisoka hummed in disappointment, pouting a little. After a moment, he brightened and said, “Ten grand for the answer to one question.”

“You have ten grand on you?” Killua droned, masking his surprise with an unimpressed facade.

“I suppose we’ll find out,” Hisoka said. “What do you say?”

_If we hop on an airship, I’ll need that ten grand_ , Killua thought. He stared at Hisoka, who didn’t move a muscle until at last Killua came to his conclusion. He nodded and said, “All right, fine. What’s the question?”

“Why did you leave your mate?” 

Killua blinked owlishly at Hisoka. Hisoka watched intently, perched atop his Ducati, just as serious as the way he delivered the question. Killua went through each word over in his head before he had the good sense to blush, embarrassed and overall  _disturbed_ . He floundered for a moment before shrieking, voice cracking, “ _Mate?_ Oh, no, definitely not.”

“So you are aware of werewolf mates then.”

“ _Yes_ , and Gon and I—we’re just friends.”

“I was under the impression that this… Gon character was your mate,” Hisoka said. Killua flushed a deep, dark red that had Hisoka humming in delight, and it quickly manifested into a moan as he said, “Ah, I should make you flustered more often. Tell me more about this Gon character.”

“He  _isn’t_ —! Shut the fuck up and mind your own damn business,” Killua barked at him before turning his attention away. 

It didn’t stay away long.

“You never answered my question, though. We got… caught up in the logistics,” Hisoka said. “Why did you leave?”

“Because I have shit to take care of on my own,” he answered. “Now are we  _quite_ done?”

Hisoka sighed and reached into his jacket pocket. “I  _am_ a man of my word. Here—” He held out a sheaf of green. Killua reached over to take it, pointedly avoiding Hisoka’s long, deadly fingernails. 

“I find that hard to believe,” Killua muttered as he counted the cash. Ten grand. He waved it in the air and said with a note of triumph, “But I’ll take it this time.”

“Shall we play a game?”

“Absolutely  _not_ ,” Killua said.

“ _Boring_ ,” Hisoka sang dully, his gaze sliding off across the boat. “I should warn you that I am not a very pleasant person when bored.”

The hinted threat sent a shudder through Killua. He could tell Hisoka caught the nervous jolt through his system because in the next moment, Hisoka was back to smiling. Killua simmered his shock beneath an annoyed affect. He may not have been able to hide the way he reacted to some of the shit Hisoka said, but the very least he could do was pretend to be normal. 

“ _Fine_ ,” he hissed. “What fucking game. Enlighten me.”

Hisoka brightened, pleased that Killua relented. Killua rolled his eyes as Hisoka raised one long index finger and said, “I’ll ask one question, and after you answer it, you can ask me one question in return.”

_I really don’t want to know anything about him_ , Killua realized as disappointment followed the game description.  _But I really don’t want to die right now_ .

“Fine,” Killua grumbled, furious with himself for effectively stepping straight into a prisoner’s trap. Hisoka had him hostage—he could do anything he pleased, and right now, if he wanted to play twenty-one questions, by God they’d play it. 

“You go first.”

“Why?”

“I’m curious to know what you’ll ask. But that was a dull question, so now it’s my turn,” Hisoka said. Killua’s mouth fell open, but he quickly snapped it shut as Hisoka went ahead and asked his question. “What do you have to take care of?”

“You screwing up shit,” Killua answered in a sneer. Hisoka’s smile never wavered. “My turn.”

“You didn’t answer the question properly.”

“Ask me later then if you’re so concerned,” Killua said. He straightened in his seat, dropping his hands down to cross them over his chest. He looked at the sky and considered his options. “How do you usually hunt prey?”

“It’s different every time. There’s no usual tactic,” he replied.

“That isn’t answering my question.”

“If you’re so concerned…” Hisoka sang. 

They went on deflecting questions with useless answers through the length of the ferry trip across the straight. Between Hisoka’s questions, long spans of silence followed in which Killua examined the answer he knew Hisoka wanted, and the one that he would give in reply. It would have made for a quick trip if the potential for murder wasn’t amplified by each answer Killua gave. The amusement on Hisoka’s face morphed into a look Killua could only describe as hellish delight.

To say Killua was grateful to no longer be stranded at sea with Hisoka was an understatement. He didn’t bother to explain or linger at the docks, either. When he hit the road, he didn’t stop to check that Hisoka was following—he could see the flash of red in his side mirror before it curved to the side and appeared out of the corner of his vision, hugging the divider line and sharing the lane with Killua’s chopper. 

Killua’s mental map and the street signs directed them through the rolling hills of the Republic. They rode into the evening, the lights from their bikes cutting through the dark. Killua ignored the aching sensation through his bones from riding for so many hours. Eventually, the sensation went numb, and he was left on autopilot for the remainder of the night through the countryside. He would rest when they reached their destination and no sooner than that. The last thing he wanted was to be stranded on the side of the road in the middle of the dark with a ghoul. He could fend for himself so long as they never stopped for gas. 

Starting fires and explosions was certainly  _not_ on his itinerary. 

When they at last exited the long road heading east, midnight had turned the sky an inky black that faded into a dome of orange light radiating from the city streets. It had been years since Killua last visited this region of the Republic, and that time, it was with Gon. They had gone to chase down a lead with Kaito and had gotten stuck in the cycle that brushed the track into the dust along with all the other miscreants in the area. 

Killua pulled his bike into the garage west of the hotel. He made a point to park nearest the elevators, within spitting distance of the shiny security camera posted above the door. The tungsten light just in front of it sputtered, flickering to life around the shadows of flies buzzing about the plastic cover. The electricity hummed in Killua’s ears as he pulled off his helmet and dismounted from the bike.

He staggered at the tightness in his muscles. He cursed a little, rubbing at his ass before adjusting the straps on his rucksack. The Ducati came to a halt then beside him, the key turning in the ignition. When silence at last settled, Killua felt his ears pop. Without the constant roar of the engine, he felt disoriented, bleary-eyed, and exhausted. 

Hisoka hummed as he removed his helmet, and made a point of sighing semi-orgasmically as he dismounted the bike. Killua was already halfway to the door posted for hotel guests. 

“Ah, this location gives you away,” Hisoka said, heels clicking on the pavement as he trailed after Killua. 

Killua saw one of the fainter shadows from Hisoka circle around beside him as they passed beneath the tungsten light. He pushed into the hotel door, chest tight with anxiety. Not only was he tired, but he was hungry, and there was no doubt in his mind that Hisoka knew it. 

_Was he waiting for me to put my guard down?_ he wondered, the tension in his brow manifesting into a full-blown headache. He sighed as they crossed over the skywalk between the garage complex and the hotel lobby. 

“I take it you’ve beast out before,” Hisoka commented as they entered the lobby side-by-side. 

A shiver coursed through Killua’s limbs. He ground his teeth together and said, “Yeah, but it was for a cover. I wasn’t doing it to fight.”

_I’m not sure why I’m surprised_ , he thought, glancing at Hisoka out of the corner of his eye. Hisoka didn’t seem all that concerned as they approached the front desk. Killua was quick to take the lead, lifting two fingers and saying, “Two rooms, please.” 

As Hisoka murmured, “Shame,” under his breath, Killua glowered at him and thought,  _He seems like the type of guy to dabble in dark magic. Heaven’s Arena would be the next step up_ .

When it came time to paying for the rooms, Killua pulled out his wallet where a total of twenty thousand jenny sat. “I’ll pay for my room, you pay for yours,” he said.

“I can’t,” Hisoka said in that obnoxious, breathy voice that made Killua want to punch a wall.

Killua narrowed his eyes. “Why the hell not?”

“I gave you all of my money,” he said. 

Killua didn’t want to punch a wall—he wanted to punch Hisoka.

 

* * *

 

The moment Hisoka shut his hotel door, his phone buzzed and chimed in his pocket. He pulled it out, a smile spreading across his lips at the sight of Machi’s number on his screen.

He answered the call with a pleasant, “You never call, darling, but this seemed like the sort of situation in which—”

“ _If only I could believe you’re doing this to piss me off_ ,” Machi muttered, static in her voice. 

Hisoka laughed darkly as he passed a hand through his hair and came to stand at the floor length mirror on the wall across from the lone bed.

“ _Where in the fuck are you?_ ” she demanded, and the venom in her voice had Hisoka moaning, rolling his eyes before landing his sights on the vent above his mirror. 

He readjusted his stance so he came to stand in the direct path of the vent flow. There, he gathered the growing strength behind His Prey’s scent— _and_ it just so happened to be at the edge of the bed. 

He moaned again, just for the hell of it, and said, “I’m in Heaven, darling.”

And then, he hung up.

On the other end of the line, Machi snapped her phone shut. It wasn’t a flip phone, by any means, so the glass splintered and cracked, the metal crunching beneath her fingers. She did it so casually that, had there not been such a grinding sound, it would have seemed normal.

She lifted her eyes and said, “Sounds like he’s fucking your buddy.”

Her eyes drifted to the scrawny-looking kid, who looked like he was two seconds away from passing out. 

Gon’s head spun, the throbbing from his hangover only amplified by the echo of Machi’s words reverberating in his skull.  _He’s fucking your buddy he’s fucking your buddy he’sfuckingyourbuddy_ —

“Yeah right!” Leorio shouted, the growl in his voice hinting at the fact that none of them could entirely dismiss the fact that Hisoka  _would_ try. As much as they hoped the ghoul wouldn’t…

He definitely would.

“I think I’m gonna be sick,” Gon moaned, hands clutched over his stomach. Beside him, Leorio scrabbled to get him a bag to throw up in and wound up snatching the baseball cap off of Knuckle’s head. Knuckle’s hands flew up to stop him, but the hat was already in Gon’s hands. 

His stomach heaved but nothing came out. He leant into the concrete pillar underneath Kurapika’s apartment complex. Gon dropped his forehead against the cool concrete and breathed steadily, balling the hat up in his fist. 

Machi watched impassively, more bored than anything, and sighed, “Are we done? Since none of you are humans, I’m not interested in this powwow anymore.”

“What  _exactly_ did he say?” Kurapika asked, bright eyes blood red. Gon felt a prickle roll up his spine at the tension in the parking garage.

Morel had been standing nearest Machi when the call was made. He crossed his arms and said, voice gruff, “Hisoka said, and I quote, ‘I’m in heaven, darling’.”

“That sounds weird coming from you, no offense,” Knuckle said.

“That’s because I’m your father,” Morel said.

“That’s because he’s quoting Hisoka,” Kurapika corrected. 

Gon watched them all bicker over the meaning of Hisoka’s cryptic response to Machi. He twisted the baseball cap between his hands, and it was a sheer blessing that he was clawless otherwise he would have tore it to pieces by now. 

The image of Killua in the face of Hisoka’s bloodlust flashed into his mind. The florescent lights, the blue splashed across his pale face and wide, terrified eyes—it was more than Gon’s heart could take. 

It pierced him like a needle in the chest. He jumped at the sight of Machi casually walking away, her hands in her pockets. 

Gon rushed to her and in two strides he caught her by the wrist and heaved her back. She spun, swaying on her heels, though her expression said she wasn’t at all surprised to face Gon. She stared him down with those dull, colorless eyes.

He couldn’t stop himself from clenching his fingers as tightly as he could to keep himself from shaking as he seethed, “Why didn’t you _stop him_ .”

The chaos from the pack’s arguing ceased. A spec of blood could have dropped on the concrete and they all would have heard it. Gon’s jaw ticked, aching terribly under the pressure of his fangs piercing his sagging canine gums. Over the past few months, the unfathomable pain from the morphing of his gums had left him more irritable than anything. Such extended agony couldn’t steel him against Machi’s opinion of Killua.

“I couldn’t care less about that sorcerer,” she said. 

Something audibly cracked, and suddenly, Machi’s wrist felt like a sponge in Gon’s fist. Her expression hadn’t changed, and in Gon’s tunnel vision, he could see the twitch of her eye at the sound of Gon shattering her wrist. 

_I’m in heaven, darling_ .

Hisoka’s voice sounded in his head, fuzzy around the edges but there all the same. 

_I’m in Heaven._

The tension in Gon slackened. His jaw fell open, a gasp in the back of his throat. Slowly, he straightened his fingers until Machi’s crushed wrist all but fell to her side. It swayed unsteadily, and her hand settled at such an odd angle. Gon stared at it long after the silence ended. 

Gon lowered his hand to his side, curling his outstretched fingers into tight fists. 

“They’re at Heaven’s Arena,” Gon whispered, eyes wide. 

The shock was palpable. Gon let the sensation drag across him, cloaking him in a warm, reassuring blanket. He would have lost his shit by now, but with Knuckle at his side, he could already feel the immensely gratifying presence of a pack at his back. They were all on his side, they were all pissed as hell with him, and they were all willing to help him. The support was enough to crush the strain on his mind where Machi had wound him into a tight wad of stress. 

Gon rubbed his arm over his eyes as heat swelled behind them. He knew where Killua was now. He’d get to see Killua soon.

And punch Hisoka in his smug mug. 

“What makes you say that?” Leorio asked.

Gon took in a deep, shaky breath. “Because that’s where Killua learned dark magic,” he said, turning on his heels. He faced Leorio, and his gaze slid past him to Knuckle, who offered a firm nod. 

“Alright. We go to Heaven’s, then,” Knuckle agreed. 

Gon nodded. When Knuckle dropped a hand over his head, he relaxed. The sensation spread like an egg cracking over his head, shattering the remnants of his concern.  _We’ll find Killua_ , the gesture said, soothing across Gon’s very being.

With Gon’s intimidating facade gone, Machi said, “I hope I never see you fuckers again.”

She stalked off and, meanwhile, Leorio flipped her off and stuck his tongue out. Kurapika slapped his hand down. 

“Count me in. I’ll drive,” they said.

“Well, if ‘Pika’s going, I’m going,” Leorio said.

“No you aren’t, you have work,” Kurapika said. 

“Nah, Morel’ll cover for me,” Leorio said, pointing a thumb at Morel. Morel’s brow furrowed over his sunglasses. Leorio grimaced and, in the end, slumped. “ _Fine_ . Whatever, I’ll hold the fort down here. But keep me posted, all right?”

“Of course,” they said, slapping Leorio on the back. Leorio bent a little under the force, grimacing. 

Gon blinked, his wide, owlish eyes taking in the bright, hopeful faces of his pack mates.  _My pack_ , he thought, and the sentiment spread warmth to his cheeks and, likewise, his already stinging eyes. 

Tears bubbled up and caught on his eyelashes. Kurapika raised an eyebrow at him, and out of embarrassment, he hid them behind his arm. “Sorry. I’m fine, I’m just happy, I guess,” Gon insisted.

Still rubbing the tears away, Gon hesitated at the sound of Knuckle sniffling next to him. He looked up only to jump at the sight of tear tracks already streaking Knuckle’s cheeks. Gon shrieked, “Why are  _you_ crying?!” 

Knuckle sniffled again and tossed an arm around Gon’s shoulders. He shoved Gon’s face into his beefy pecs and said, “You’re the one who’s crying! Just let me hug you, you idiot.” Gon laughed against him, giving him a squeeze around the middle. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nobody:  
> Me, the author: Did someone say SONNIE'S EDGE + GREED ISLAND + HEAVEN'S ARENA????????????


	11. 11 x heaven's arena

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Killua returns to the fighting ring with Hisoka as his technician.

As a kid, Killua had lived in Heaven’s Arena for the span of a two months. Heaven’s Arena became his territory, and all those who challenged him were met with the formidable team that encompassed Killua, Illumi, and Milluki. The three of them were unstoppable, but it all came down to Killua.

It always did.

After breaking his father’s threshold—a minimum of two hundred wins—Killua dropped his headgear and vowed never to touch it again. He walked away from Heaven’s Arena holding a winning record and never looked back. He spent every last cent on useless shit so he could get rid of the evidence that made him who he was today. 

If it weren’t for Heaven’s Arena, dark magic never would have laced his blood with such a lethal dosage of  _black_ . His opponents often wondered, near the end of it, if his blood ran black like ink. Judging by the red on Kurapika’s gauze, though, Killua was still human.

Just enough to make it possible to reverse the dark magic damage. 

Killua frowned at his empty wallet as he stood in line outside of the Arena. The brick wall next to him was coated in a film of moss that ruffled in the breeze that buffeted his hair back. His athletic jacket collar ruffled in the wind as he turned to look back at Hisoka. Hisoka turned his eyes back around from where he had been focused on something in the distance.

“We don’t have enough for a custom headset,” Killua explained.

“‘ _We’_ ? I never pegged you as one for teamwork,” Hisoka said.

“Nor I with you, but here we are,” Killua said, scratching the back of his head. He scowled at the line ahead of them and thought, dreadfully,  _How the hell did I end up here?_ “I’ve come to the conclusion that you deal black.”

“Who, me? I don’t deal magic,” he said. Killua raised an eyebrow at him, and Hisoka merely smiled.

“Liar,” Killua said.

“I never lie to prey. I find the truth adds a little seasoning. Sweetens the blood.”

Killua shuddered, and it just punctuated what Hisoka meant by that. Hisoka’s truth meant threats, uncomfortable comments, innuendos—it was enough to send his prey into a panic. Scaring them shitless was what Hisoka looked for in the hunt. Even knowing that, Killua couldn’t help the thread of fear tying his organs into knots.

“You’re quite honest for someone who has a penchant for being dishonest,” Hisoka commented. 

“You’re one to talk.”

“Opposites may attract, but like minds think alike,” Hisoka replied. 

Killua turned around to peg Hisoka with  _exactly_ what he thought about that suggestion. Gaze hooded by his fallen bangs, Killua let a murderous smirk spread across his lips as he hissed, “We are  _nothing_ alike.”

With that, he brushed his bangs back and turned back around. They were nearing the sign-in booth. He heard Hisoka chuckle from behind him, thoroughly amused by Killua’s unspoken threat. If they were going to team up, Killua wasn’t going to trust the Arena’s pricey handouts. He needed to figure out what Hisoka could manage on his own.

“Here’s the deal,” Killua said. “I’m piloting. Have you monitored before?”

“Never in my life,” he replied.

“But you’ve  _heard_ of Heaven’s Arena,” Killua said, but Hisoka’s claim to never having touched dark magic came back to him. He grumbled under his breath a little. “ _Fine_ . We’ll figure it out, but we sure as hell aren’t paying for a technician.”

At the sign-in desk, Killua slid a technician form over to Hisoka after marking the designated materials they would need. Hisoka all but purred as he took the pen from Killua and said, “Aye aye, Captain.”

“Save it,” Killua muttered, filling out his own form. “I’m only doing this because I’m broke as hell.”

“That makes two of us,” Hisoka purred. 

The assistant went to fetch the equipment after taking their forms and filing them away. They were given ticket numbers, two headsets, a tablet, and a linking dock. 

An Arena implant was a permanent fixture, invisible to the eye, and lodged against the inside of Killua’s skull. He couldn’t remember the day Illumi put him under for the operation—he was too young, as it was long before they began training his immune system to reject anesthetics and pain killers—but every now and then he could feel it. Most days he was oblivious to its presence, but on occasion, he sensed it and would be unable to ignore it for days at a time. The weight of it at the front of his skull, pushing, pulsing like the heartbeat of a dormant beast.

That was what it was, wasn’t it?

Killua stared at the headset in his grasp and, in a moment of absolute anger, clenched his fists around it. With hands shaking, he slackened his grip. If he broke it, he’d have to pay for it. 

He dropped the link dock chip in the front chest pocket of his jacket. When he looked up, he expected to see Gon standing there, eager eyes waiting. That hope popped, shriveled up, and died in his chest when he found Hisoka watching him from where he waited, leant against the mossy brick wall.

Gon had been his technician, the second time around. They weren’t playing for two hundred wins—they had been playing for intelligence on Kaito. 

Now, Killua was playing to start fresh. He was playing for money. 

“Let’s go,” Killua muttered, marching off to the gated archway. 

The Arena sign was posted in neon over the iron wrought gate, mounted on the brick. It was glowing red that cloudy morning, radiating through the smoke that curled between the iron bars. Thick, heavy smoke rolled out from inside the building and down the long, eerie walkway blocked by the security checkpoint. 

Killua held out his ticket to the guard. After scanning it, he was let inside under the orders, “Your pass is only good for a day, kid, so make it quick.”

“I’m confident it will be a swift execution,” Hisoka said as he followed after Killua, fingernails scraping across the iron. The gate swung shut, rattling in the latch. It swept the fog forward, cutting between the clouds and sending it swirling up around their receding forms. Their silhouettes faded amongst the echo of the Arena audience gearing up for a fight.

 

* * *

 

“Have you made the connection yet?” Illumi had asked. 

Killua was five, only now privy to the heartbeat in his skull, blinking in and out of existence. It was a foreign object, but one that was wholly apart of him. 

“No. I can feel it, though,” Killua said, rubbing a hand over his forehead. “Is it broken?”

“ _Alluka’s_ was broken,” Milluki had said, as tedious to deal with as ever. “Yours is fine. You’re just stupid.”

Killua frowned at Milluki, who stuck his fat tongue out. Killua could feel a crackle of static fizzle over his massive head of white hair. Judging by the sudden sheen of sweat on Milluki, he figured his brother could see it. 

Illumi hummed thoughtfully, tapping a finger against his chin. Killua looked up at Illumi, head tipped to the side. While Killua sat crosslegged, intending to meditate on the implant some more, Illumi stayed standing, his shadow falling over Killua as he considered the state of Killua’s roadblock to progress.

Illumi snapped his fingers and said, calmly, a note of triumph in his voice, “I heard somewhere that high impact head trauma could trigger it.”

Killua blinked at his brother before he became distracted by Milluki’s delighted laugh. “Let’s do it! A solid punch, maybe?”

“I said  _high_ impact,” Illumi hummed, back to thinking.

“A great height?”

“Not at all, no…” Illumi went on, now curling his hair around his palm like he was tying a noose. “Ah, I know,” he said with a slight gasp. “We run his head over. That should do the trick.”

 

* * *

 

Heaven’s Arena occupied a rundown granary that stood as the lone survivor of a clump of dilapidated silos. The mill windows were boarded up, and the concrete structure was fortified at the base by a series of brick levels that housed the current great fighters in the tournaments. The building was all centered around the main atrium—the fighting ring—where the circular column of seating arrangements traveled up into the mill. There were three rings, and of the three, the best of the fights happened on the ground floor where visitors could watch from the entrance, enthralled, by the shadows of beasts cutting through the smoke.

The excitement that orbited the main ring loomed over graffitied concrete walls and a broken, tiled floor. The commotion subsided as the lights cut out in a deep, resonating  _boom_ that signaled the start of the fight. 

When the lights cut into the center, the pillar of white sliced through the fog and blew it out to the edges of the ring, sweeping into a light, feathery tornado that dissipated around a sudden flash of bright lights. 

In the center where the spotlight fell, a woman in bright orange hair threw her arms up and screamed into her microphone, “ _Welcome to Heaven’s Arena! You all have gotten quite a bargain on your tickets tonight, folks, because we have a surprise guest!_ ”

A series of whistles and shouts filled the atrium. The deep, bellowing hum of feet stomping pulsed in the air until at last being drowned out by the announcer continuing on.

“ _We all saw him four years ago, we’ve seen him in action, and now I’m pleased to introduce you to the legendary child prodigy, grown up and here for more_ — _GODSPEEEEED—!_ ”

A burst of blue light swept around the concrete arena, panel-by-panel, until the arena was filled with light from floor to ceiling, circled around the spiral of floors rising up from where a podium rose up from the ground. On the far end of the arena, posted above the fighting ring, appeared Killua. 

The podium came to a halt. 

Killua stared out at the crowd, but all of the faces were masked in the shadows. The sound from the audience, however, was deafening. He unzipped his athletic jacket and shed it. The white in his hair, the white on his tank, all became florescent in the black lights.

Next to him, Hisoka’s bright red hair illuminated magenta, and the fine, florescent fibers in his shirt glowed bright yellow. In his hand, his glowing nails clicked idly on the tablet surface.

Killua removed the linking dock before chucking his jacket off to the side of the stage as the announcer went on to introduce the next contender. Meanwhile, Hisoka leant over and said, “ _Godspeed?_ I’m under the impression that you’ve done this before.”

“I’m surprised you caught on,” Killua droned, voice thick with sarcasm.

“ _Next up on the south stage, we have a promising champion! With a winning streak of 5-0, our fan favorite, the mighty, the brilliant, TYYYYGERBYYYYYTE—!_ ”

The blue panels became covered in yellow in one, large sweeping motion, following the gesture of the announcer’s hand spinning around to the southern stage opposite Killua and Hisoka. The podium lifted, revealing a head of white hair glowing in the black lights. Killua closed his hands into fists as he took in the sight of the man’s yellow trench coat, and the expression on his face when the spotlights all circled over to Killua’s contender. 

“Ah, interesting,” Hisoka hummed. 

“What is it?” Killua asked, wondering if he missed something. He looked over at Hisoka as the crowd cheered on their current favorite. Killua might have been a veteran of the Arena, but this Tygerbyte was a local fighter. Killua popped up out of the blue, so he didn’t expect a big showing of Godspeed fans. 

Hisoka lifted a finger as he said, “I’ve fought him before.”

Killua blinked. “You said you don’t deal magic?”

“I don’t consider this magic,” he said. Killua blinked at him, not following. Hisoka lifted the tablet as if it was a tissue and gestured to it. “It’s all merely technology and meditation.”

_Unbelievable_ , Killua thought to himself, staring ahead at Tygerbyte. As they both stepped up to their platforms at the edge of the battle ring, he thought to himself, _Hisoka’s piloted before. Even if he uses dark magic, he doesn’t know what to call it. That’s impressive enough as it is_ .

Before starting the process, Killua glanced back at Hisoka, who was sat near the plexiglass next to the north stage ledge. Hisoka sat with one knee up, the other tipped lazily to the ground. He propped the tablet on his knee and moved the microphone to his lips so that, when Killua put the headset on, he could hear Hisoka whispering cheekily, “Plug me in, baby.” 

“I could kill you after synching up, you do realize this, right?” Killua seethed darkly into his mic, and he could barely pick up Hisoka’s crackled laughter over the roaring of the crowd. 

Killua swiped up a bit of chalk from the concrete ledge. With it pinched firmly in his fingers, he began circling the platform with it. The previous fighter had left behind a smudge of his or her own summoning circle, but Killua’s remained crisp, bright in the black lights, with every stripe of chalk perfectly in line with how it had been years ago when he and Gon stood on the north stage podium together. 

When he was done, Killua chucked the chalk out into the fighting ring. 

He clenched the linking dock in his fingers. He pushed it to his forehead where it pinched the skin over the imperceptible implant. He hissed at the prick that came with it. 

The circular linking dock blinked to life, shining blue between the strands of his white hair. He heard the click of the ring around the dock releasing. With shaking fingers, Killua plucked the ring off of the dock and stared at it with the commotion of the Arena blurring over in the background. 

He swallowed hard at the sound of Illumi in his head, saying, “ _You lose on my terms_ .”

_I’ll win on my terms_ , he thought as he stuck the ring on his finger. 

The headset on his head consisted of a usual headband followed by a third prong that hooked over his forehead and latched onto the linking dock. The strips of light on the headset came to life, flushing over in the blue-white light of Killua’s magic sinking in, pulsing in his finger where the ring sucked the life force from him.

He clenched his hands over his fists as he closed his eyes and let his spirit slip through the platform, through the concrete, and fill the summoning circle. It circumnavigated the chalk, sparking to life in curls of dense, white magic. 

Killua bowed his head, calm returning to his expression. It smudged away the tension, the wrinkle on his forehead, the frown on his face. He slipped along with his spirit into another dimension in which he wasn’t Killua Zoldyck, nor was he anything.

From that emptiness, he followed his magic link and made his connection. 

He touched the clawed finger of a beast with his ringed hand. 

Killua grasped the beast by the four-clawed hand and dragged it up through the dense concrete and into light, smokey air.

A rumble resounded through the structure. Both Killua and Tygerbyte’s platforms were now alight with magic—Killua’s, sparking; Tygerbyte’s, flaming. At the sensation that shook the arena, cheers rose up to accompany the burst of a shadow through the concrete beneath Killua. 

A fist materialized, smoking, curling with dense, black magic. As its four fingers uncurled, it hooked its hand on the edge of the north stage ledge. The force broke the gooey black film and sent it dissipating into a cloud, revealing thick, leathery scales and shiny, black claws. 

The beast rose up, the black mass raising two massive hind legs out from the concrete. It swamped Killua in black smoke as it took its form, its head rearing up in a spark of brilliant electricity that curled around its pointed snout and four curved horns. Two hooked around the corners of its maw, and the other two projected back to the limbs that unhooked from its midsection, flaring like the legs of a centipede. 

The smoke drifted from its leathery flesh as it roared into the fighting ring, at the beast raising from the concrete on the southern platform.

A fraction of surprise lifted Hisoka’s eyebrows. His focused abandoned the monitoring tablet in favor of trailing his eyes along Killua’s demon, and the spiky tail that flicked across the stage before curling back over the pronged ridges of its vertebrae. The end of the tail was hooked—if it ever sunk into the flesh of its prey, ripping it out would be a mortal wound. 

Hisoka glanced at Killua’s dormant body, which remained immovable and unaffected by the demon. 

Because, as everyone knew, the demon and Killua were one beast now.

Killua blinked open his eyes and, through them, adjusted to the kaleidoscope of colors flooding his senses. The sharpened smell clouded by the smoke in the air. The smoke was meant to dull the hallucinogenic experience, so Killua was grateful that it was all he could sense. Adjusting to a fragmented lens was enough of a task as it was. 

_It was easier to adjust back then when I was fighting every day_ , he thought to himself as he steadied his claws on the edge of the platform. The taunt muscles of the beast’s limbs tightened and loosened, flexing after years spent outside of this dimension. 

_Sorry to bring you out again_ , he mused, closing his eyes.  _I know I promised Gon I wouldn’t_ .

 

* * *

 

“It’s sold out,” Kurapika said, rejoining them across the street. 

They stood in the shadow of the old, repurposed granary, and a sprinkle had startled to darken the pavement on the road. Gon was shaking, his hands clenched over his biceps. Even with the coming rain, he could still smell a hint of Killua on the sidewalk. They were downwind, though, so Killua had likely been standing across the street that morning. Now, there were vendors posted out along the stretch of people waiting to get in. 

“So he  _is_ fighting,” Gon said.

“It’s between someone called Tygerbyte and Godspeed,” they said.

_He’s fighting_ , he realized, and the thought brought with it a blend of disappointment and excitement. He was disappointed in both Killua and himself. He didn’t want to condone Heaven’s Arena for what it was, but he couldn’t deny the thrill he felt when watching Killua in there four years prior. 

He never had to deal with demons before he met Killua, and he still didn’t know what to make of them.

He recalled his first encounter with Godspeed so incredibly well, he could very well paint a picture if he had an ounce of artistic ability. It was in the Arena’s off-hours, several days before their scheduled fight with a werewolf who dabbled in dark magic. Killua had been worried, he remembered, because the wrinkle between his brows was deeper than usual, and his voice would hitch when he said, “ _You have to promise me you won’t freak out and ditch. I can just use our extra cash to hire a tech._ ”

Killua had drawn a circle in the middle of the ring. Gon remembered because the chalk had wavered in Killua’s hands, and the uneven tiles left gaps in the summoning circle. It worked, though, and before long, Gon’s breath was swept away at the bitter cold exhale through Godspeed’s slitted nostrils that flared beneath its iridescent eyes. He swore the moisture from the air had crystalized when Godspeed’s breath touched Gon’s hair. 

They had just been kids then, but Gon knew guilt when he saw it. Killua felt guilty for even picking up the chalk, let alone summoning Godspeed to fight. Killua thought it was inhumane, but Illumi had argued that demons were as far from human as they could get. 

Gon was inclined to agree with Killua, and so it was for both of their sakes that Gon had placed a hand on Godspeed’s snout and said, “ _This is the last time you’ll have to fight, Godspeed_ .”

“We have to get in,” Gon insisted.

“We can’t get in without a ticket. You got any bright ideas?” Knuckle said.

Gon pointed up, past the brick addition to the granary, and up to the mill. Kurapika and Knuckle followed his attention to one of the boarded-up windows, high in the sky. Gon looked at them, eyes bright.

Knuckle scratched a hand over his head of black hair as Kurapika sighed and said, “I don’t know why I bother suggesting logical means.”


	12. 12 x heaven's arena

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time to smacc some sense into Killua, says Gon.   
> Ohoo sounds like fun, says Hisoka.   
> Not BDSM, Hisoka, says Kurapika.   
> O I don't know about that, says Knuckle.

Gon was the first to drop through the window several feet onto the corridor floor. They were in a stretch that consisted of high ceilings encircling the main stairway spiraling up to the third arena. Gon surveyed the signs on the walls and determined that they were at the top floor of the second arena. 

He stepped aside to make room for Knuckle, whose shadow stretched out onto the wall ahead before he dropped through with ease. He jogged to a halt, hands on his hips. “Well, can’t say I make it a habit to go rock climbing, but that was pretty good, huh?”

“Yeah, it was great!” Gon agreed, smiling wide. 

Kurapika swung in feet-first, and landed smoothly beside Gon. They brushed their hands off on their joggers and said, “We should get moving. It sounds like the fight just started.”

Sure enough, they could feel the vibrations from the first arena reverberating up through the stairwell. The crowd was in an uproar, screams of excitement reaching their sensitive ears. Gon rubbed a hand over the side of his skull, irritated by the constant hum prickling across his eardrum. 

It wasn’t just the sound, though—the  _smell_ . The smell became dizzying before they ever reached the second arena. Their footsteps echoed across the concrete, spinning together in a disorienting conglomeration of  _racket_ assaulting their senses. Gon looked to Knuckle, who seemed unfazed.  _Am I the only one hearing and smelling literally_ everything _?_ Gon thought to himself, frowning.

Soon, they were in the thick of the smoke. The scent of it hit Gon like a wall, but shortly after, relief followed. Gon sighed contently, though Knuckle grimaced and pinched his nose. 

“It’s for the fighters,” Kurapika explained. 

“Yeah, to dull the demon’s senses,” Gon said, glancing at Knuckle. “You don’t like it?”

“It’s all I can  _smell_ ,” Knuckle whined, clasping a hand over his nose and mouth. “It makes a guy feel like he’s stuck in a cell without air, you know what I mean?”

“Then breathe, dummy,” Kurapika deadpanned. 

Knuckle shoved them in the arm and moved on ahead of them, ducking into one of the upper level viewing rooms. Gon and Kurapika followed after, curious to see how the fight progressed. Gon’s heart fluttered in his chest as they stepped into the cacophony of the arena, but he was too distracted to bother with the sound. It all muffled when the lights flashed and illuminated the ring. 

They could hear the announcer screaming, “ _Let’s get ready to FIIIIIGHT!_ ”

Gon reached the ledge just as the hologram of the announcer dissolved into the ground, shattered under the landing of the two beasts into the circle. 

_Godspeed_ , Gon thought, breath catching in his throat. He pointed to the leathery beast, with its pronged horns, and said, “That’s him, that’s him right there.”

Knuckle and Kurapika said nothing. All of their eyes were shifting from the beasts and onto the men piloting them. Killua was shrouded in shimmering blue panels, the summoning circle surging with energy and kicking up a spiral of wind that caught on his hair. The linking dock was visible then—just a small, white dot on Killua’s forehead where it connected to the bright strip of his headset. 

He looked peaceful, as if he was doing nothing more than meditating, but in the context of the arena, Gon swiftly came to the conclusion that this was anything  _but_ a cakewalk.

“There’s Hisoka,” Kurapika said, pointing to the left of the stage. 

Gon’s fingers cracked the concrete ledge underneath his hands. 

He ground his teeth together as he took in the sight of Hisoka lounging on the technician podium. Hisoka, holding the technician’s tablet, wearing a  _headset linked to Killua_ . Gon wasn’t sure what pissed him off more. 

That was supposed to be  _Gon_ up there on the stage with Killua. No one other than him deserved to be there, least of all Hisoka, least of all Illumi, Milluki. None of them deserved that spot more than  _Gon Freecs_ .

“I’m going up there,” Gon said, like he was about to spring off of the ledge. 

Kurapika grabbed him by the sleeve, fully convinced that this was what he was going to do. “Hang on—how do we get to the stage anyway?”

“Underneath,” Gon said. Reassured, Kurapika sighed and dropped their hand. 

“Then let’s fucking go,” Knuckle said. He led the way back out to the stairs where they all but ran, taking the steps three at a time. As they went, Knuckle gagged at the smell of the smoke and said, “You better believe I’m sitting down with a nice slab of steak and drinking gluten free beer after this.”

“Yuck,” Gon said, sticking his tongue out. He giggled at the annoyed glare Knuckle sent his way.

Gon directed them through the round-about corridors underneath the arena. There was a floor beneath every arena for the purpose of routing fighters to and from the ring. They required access cards to even enter the room, so Knuckle flattened a fighter against a wall and demanded to use their card. Gon smiled apologetically to the fighter, who weakly handed it over. 

Kurapika swiped them in before tossing the card back to Knuckle. Knuckle caught it without looking and slapped it into the fighter’s outstretched hand. Knuckle smiled, but it looked like a threat, as he said, “Thanks, buddy.”

He clapped the fighter on the shoulder as Gon hissed from the entrance, “Hurry, Knuckle!” Knuckle jogged over to them and saluted the fighter as he swung the door shut. A sign was posted on it that said,  _ONLY FIGHTERS & TECHS BEYOND THIS POINT._

As they stepped directly under the fight, the sheer roar shook Gon to the core like a goddamn gong being struck. It screamed through every muscle in his body until Kurapika yanked him back into motion, dragging him along to the center of the ring—the division between the southern and northern hemisphere. 

“Which stage?” Kurapika asked.

“Superior champions take south,” Gon explained, pointing to the southern stage. “But Killua’s record was wiped over a decade ago, so he’d be north.”

Kurapika took the turn, jogging now to the dead end where the stagehands would put fighters up. The platform was pulled down and static. The floor where the platform rose up was thinner than the rest of the stage, so they could hear the announcer shouting: 

“ _This evening Godspeed has taken a risky move—using one of Heaven Arena’s default first edition links! Using default processors can lead to unstable links. Could it be evidence of Godspeed’s dedication and steadfast commitment to his demon? The more stable the individual connection, the less pilots need to rely on link ring enhancers—”_

_“Tygerbyte has taken the liberty of upgrading his equipment since his last fight! We get to see him in his prime, sporting a Nen-brand X link enhancer, sixth edition. Tyger has not upgraded since his connection with his previous demon was severed last year!_ ”

Kurapika pressed the button on the wall next to the podium lift. The announcer’s voice broke through crystal clear as the podium entrance slid open. “ _Godspeed makes the first strike—! A shell of Tygerbyte’s shoulder armor was shucked off! And—WHAT’S THIS?! The podium is being raised on the north stage, who is this?! It seems a small, spunky werewolf pup has entered the game!_ ”

Gon blinks at the bright light that falls over him. Momentarily blinded, Gon staggered off of the podium edge. He shaded his eyes with his hand and became momentarily distracted by Killua’s head of white hair posted at the cusp of the fighting grounds. Gon blinked at him before looking, blankly, over at Hisoka. 

Hisoka raised a hand and offered a teasing little wave, a smug grin on his face. 

Gon bristled at the sight, claws out, eyes flashing. He marched down from the podium as the announcer shrieked, “ _Is this pup replacing Godspeed’s technician?! Godspeed has taken a hit! A left hook to the snout, but—oh, my!_ ”

Gon hesitated at the alarm in the announcer’s voice. Both he and Hisoka turned to watch the fight, their eyes stilling on the image of the blood spraying from an abdomen wound when Tygerbyte unhooked a sharp talon from Godspeed’s leathery flesh. 

Gon looked to Killua’s body. Killua didn’t move an inch. 

He marched up to Hisoka and hissed, “Give me the tablet and headset.”

“As you wish,” Hisoka droned, plucking the headset off. He dropped it into Gon’s outstretched hand. At once, Gon had the headset on, the microphone in position, and his hands on the tablet. He hunkered down next to Hisoka, eyes bright and on the ring. 

Tygerbyte was a lithe beast with curved scales serving as armor. It reminded Gon of a horseshoe crab, and each limb was a bony, jointed claw. Its tail was low to the ground, lined with sharp ridges that curled in and out with its every breath. 

Gon watched the tail curve to the left, its hooks now poised. 

“He’s striking on your right with his tail!” Gon cried into the mic, frantic. He looked from the fight to the spike in Killua’s heartbeat on the tablet. Gon took in the damage on the screen. Maths wasn’t his strong suit, but damage was.

Godspeed kicked off of Tygerbyte’s shoulders and, with a fluid backflip, swiped its tail through the strike from Tygerbyte’s razor-sharp tail. Godspeed latched on to its tail, leaning back on one hind leg and striking with the other to kick Tygerbyte in the chest. 

Gon flicked through the panels on the tablet. He pulled up the controls on Godspeed’s magnetic force—magic allotted to beasts was regulated for the sake of protecting not only the fighters, but also the attendants. Beasts were attracted to likeminded sorcerers, each form of their own magic compounded by the sorcerer’s own abilities. 

Gon flipped the switch on Godspeed’s magnetic abilities at the point of entry of Godspeed’s pointed tail through the open wound at the end of Tygerbyte’s vertebrae.

A second later, Gon cut the switch. Tygerbyte flipped back and ripped its tale out of Godspeed’s hold, tearing it completely from his spine. A guttural shriek filled the arena as blood splattered into the graffitied wall. 

Godspeed clasped a hand over its rippled abdomen. The ridges shifted, unfurling like the legs of a centipede. Gon sat straighter in his seat to see the damage, his attention split between that and the pace of Godspeed’s heartbeat on the tablet. 

He wanted to push further, to use all of Godspeed’s allotted magic, but he knew from their one fight that using too much at once would bankrupt Godspeed and leave Killua defenseless for the remainder of the fight.

As Tygerbyte recovered against the wall, Godspeed ducked low and circled back to the north stage. Gon jumped at the sight of the demon’s claw coming into view, hooking on the edge of the plexiglass and peering in to where Gon sat, frozen, on the floor next to Hisoka. 

He caught sight of Tygerbyte moving forward, away from the wall. 

“Behind you!” Gon shrieked, pointing. 

Godspeed leapt to the second story, lunging off of the concrete and diving for Tygerbyte, who had rammed into the plexiglass in front of Gon. Gon shrieked again as Godspeed unhinged its jaw and clamped onto Tygerbyte’s armored back. Godspeed shattered it, exposing pulsing, meaty flesh that Godspeed hooked onto with its ridges of small, centipede-like arms. 

Gon flung up to his feet, hurrying to the plexiglass as Tygerbyte fell. For the killing blow, Godspeed pierced its tail through Tygerbyte’s chest, and Gon flipped the magnetic switch.

 

* * *

 

“What the hell are you  _doing here_ , Gon?!” Killua exclaimed from the basement of the arena, eyes wild. He was still caught in the adrenaline high from the fight even though it was long over. 

“Because you ran away!” Gon shouted back, equally as furious. He threw his fists down and said, “Why did you come back here anyway?! I thought you said that you weren’t going to fight again!”

“I know!” Killua screamed. The volume and the rage in his voice stilled Gon for a moment. It was enough time for Killua to come to the conclusion that he was angry with himself more so than Gon. This was typical Gon behavior, but the rest of it? 

It wasn’t friend behavior.

“I’m sorry, Gon,” Killua said, “but I need to figure this out. I’m not planning to keep Godspeed in the pit again. I just needed the cash.”

“For what?” Gon asked.

Killua huffed, staring off down the hallway. Hisoka, Kurapika, and Knuckle were gone, leaving Gon to “talk some sense into Killua,” according to Kurapika. Kurapika hadn’t been pleased to hear that Killua was ditching Gon at Yorknew, and that hadn’t changed. 

Killua crossed his arms and said, “For a better link enhancer. I have an idea and I think it might work.”

“An idea for what? Fixing your magic?” Gon asked, the bright, eagerness in his voice returning. 

Killua grimaced at the pain that ensued. He rubbed a hand over his chest, muttering off to the side, “Yeah, and also, I gotta pay Hisoka back. He leant me ten thousand jenny.”  _But I did pay for his hotel room_ , Killua thought, expression flatlining. He resisted the urge to groan in annoyance.

As he glared off down the hallway where he knew the others were likely listening in, Gon said, “Well, you should’ve told me! I woulda come with you and helped you get the link.”

“No, Gon,” Killua sighed. “You need to stay with Knuckle and the others. Your pack is important right now.”

Gon blinked at him. His head tipped to the side as he said, “You’re my pack, though.”

Killua flushed all shades of red and cried, “Gon! You can’t just say shit like that!”

“But it’s true!” he insisted, throwing his arms out. He dropped his hands at his sides and said, “I mean, sure, I like having Knuckle around, but if I have to pick between Knuckle’s pack and my pack, I’d pick my pack. They’ve helped a lot, but you’re mine, Killua. Of course I’m gonna hunt you down if you go running off like that.”

Killua turned away from Gon, a hand over the link enhancer on his forehead. He pretended like he was removing it so Gon wouldn’t have to see him cry, but  _shit_ , he felt like sobbing. Since when did someone tie his esophagus in a knot? Was he dying? He figured death would be a better alternative to Gon finding him crying over a meaningful speech about friendship and shit.

Killua pushed the tears away and plucked the link off. He pocketed it as he sniffed and said, “Fine, whatever.”

“I have a question,” Gon said.

“What?”

Gon fiddled with his fingers. The hesitance had Killua raising an eyebrow as he watched Gon bite his lip and asked, “Did you and… Hisoka, like…  _do it?_ ”

The blood drained from Killua’s face just to race to his feet and shoot back up to his face again as he screamed, “ _No!_ Fuck no!”

Gon let out a relieved sigh, slumping into the nearest wall and crying, “Thank  _God!_ I was so worried!”

“Gon!” Killua screamed, voice cracking. 

In a snap Gon shifted to a murderous snarl that had Killua jumping. “I’m gonna  _rip his face off_ ,” Gon vowed, about to stalk off in the direction their eavesdroppers were. Killua grabbed him hastily by the shirt to prevent further bloodshed. 

They left to get their winnings then. As expected, Kurapika and Knuckle were lingering at the corner of the hallway and, likewise, Hisoka. Killua was slightly surprised to find Hisoka still intact, but neither Knuckle nor Kurapika seemed terribly inclined for murder that day. Hisoka leant back against the wall, tapping his heel against it as Gon stared him down. 

A long moment of silence passed until Hisoka, at last, sighed and said, “Seems I’m not welcome.”

“Duh,” Gon said. 

“I’ll be back for seconds, Killua,” Hisoka said with a light wave before heading off to the exit. Gon bristled in front of Killua, shoulders bunched up to his ears until Hisoka was out of sight. 

Kurapika cleared their throat and asked, “Does that mean you gave him firsts?”

“I didn’t give him anything,” Killua said, and that seemed to satisfy Gon’s rage.

Killua led the way to the bidding booth where payments were made. The attendant passed him a pocket of cash, which Killua preened at. He tucked it away in his rucksack and slipped the room key the woman handed him. “You’ll be in this room for ninety days, or until you lose a match,” the woman told him.

He lifted up the keys for the others to examine. He let Gon take them so he could sort through his cash and pick out enough for a meal. “I’m starved. We should get something to eat,” Killua said.

“I know the perfect place,” Knuckle said. 

They left Heaven’s Arena then and out into the rain. There were vendors posted out on the street, so Killua purchased several umbrellas for the four of them. He handed them out and popped open his own before leaving the cover of a nearby tent. 

They walked out through the middle of the street. The road was closed down for the Heaven’s Arena event, and Killua made a point to tug his hood up when he caught wind of someone saying, “I heard they didn’t announce Tyger’s competitor until the fight started. Is it true Godspeed’s back?” Killua’s hair was recognizable from a distance, and he had no intention of being pegged as Godspeed, not when he wasn’t planning on fighting with Godspeed again.

If he could, he’d avoid fighting altogether, but the link enhancer model he was aiming for would take another two fights, if that.

“You’re famous, huh?” Kurapika commented. “Can’t say I ever got into beast fights.”

“I don’t blame you,” Killua muttered. “I don’t agree with it. My family forced me into it—I got the implant when I was two years old.”

“That’s rough,” Knuckle muttered under his breath, shaking his head.

“When you beast out, you’re required to have a technician there to monitor the fight and ration magic,” Killua explained. “My family isn’t exactly open to the idea of entrusting us to strangers, and so my father dropped me off with my two brothers. We teamed up to get two hundred wins before my father would let us back on the estate property. My brother Milluki was my technician back then.”  _And I hated every second of it_ , he added in his head. 

“I’ve never considered piloting,” Kurapika confessed. “I’ve watched a few fights online, but I can’t imagine connecting myself to a demon.”

“It’s not bad,” Killua said, shaking his head. “It’s only conflicting because with beast fights, you’re at the forefront. Naturally, summoning demons has a very defined split. Usually you can’t enter their mind, but with the link and proper meditation, you take over their mind. I’ve never summoned Godspeed with the intention of having a conversation with it—at least, not since its first summoning.”

“So you have spoken to Godspeed before?” they asked, their shock visible through the sheet of water that trickled down from their umbrellas. Gon walked between them, looking fast from Kurapika to Killua as he tried to keep up with the conversation. 

Killua nodded. “I was only five, though. I can’t remember much. I think it speaks a different language.”

“I wonder if it understands what’s happening,” Gon said, a hand clasped to his chin. “Like, when you bring Godspeed to the surface.”

“They willingly go. They’re able to reject summonings as they wish. Godspeed has only rejected me once, and that was after a rough battle. It was too wounded to continue,” Killua confessed. 

The guilt had soured and festered in his chest since that day, and he faced Illumi’s ire because of it. He wouldn’t summon Godspeed against the demon’s will—though he wasn’t sure it was  _possible_ to force the demon to do anything if it had control of its own mind. Coming to the surface meant sacrificing its freewill. 

“Have you tried necromancy?” Knuckle asked, innocently, unprepared for the sharp looks he got from both Kurapika and Killua. “What?”

“Dark magic is frowned upon, but you could get killed for talking about _necromancy_ , you idiot!” Killua hissed, voice dropping as they passed a group of people. 

They all feigned smiles as Knuckle continued to stare dimly at Killua. As soon as they were past potential eavesdroppers, Killua shot a scowl at Knuckle and turned his nose up. “But yes, I’ve dabbled in it. If you met my family, you’d see why.”

“Why, are they all  _dead?_ Do you come from a family of  _zombies_ ?” Knuckle taunted, sticking his tongue out at Killua. Killua flicked him in the forehead for it. 

“Where are we going, anyway?” Gon asked. He brought them back to the task at hand, and with it, to Killua’s growling stomach. Killua slapped a hand over his abdomen and smiled weakly at the look he got from Gon and Knuckle, who could hear it clear as day from where their sharp ears were posted at either side of Killua. 

They arrived at the corner of a five-way street where Knuckle threw a hand up, spinning in front of them to gesture dramatically to the building across the intersection. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he declared with a sweep of his arm. “I present to you: The Big Bang!”

A thrilled gasp came out of Gon, and it startled Killua into jumping. He became momentarily distracted by Gon applauding, and then by Knuckle bowing, that he nearly missed the state of the building. 

The Big Bang wasn’t as futuristic as Killua anticipated. The only futuristic part of it happened to be the glowing sign of a bullseye target over the oak doors. A neon axe arced in three positions before pinning to the bullseye. The old-fashioned doorway was fitted with a crisscross chain of iron wrought fence bolted over three diamond windows, and as they arrived at the stoop, Killua considered the state of the flickering lights inside. 

_Are those… candles?_ he wondered as Knuckle flung open the doors and stepped inside.

Warmth swept over them, and Killua breathed in the smell of amazing, greasy, fried food. His mouth watered, his stomach growled, and he was suddenly grateful that he was in Heaven with Knuckle that day. After being paranoid about eating around Hisoka for a day, he was eager to down an entire basket of chicken wings. 

The bar was organized like a tavern, with massive picnic tables fit for an entire battalion. The medieval decor, though, wasn’t what interested Killua. 

It was the sporadic  _thuds_ that echoed through the bar. 

“What’s that sound?” Gon asked.

“Follow me—I’ll show you,” Knuckle said, gesturing to the back of the bar. 

They walked beneath the vaulted ceilings supported by dense timber. At the end of the line of bench seating, they arrived at a set of double doors were the noise was the loudest and accompanied by a barrage of ecstatic shouting. Killua could see the excitement all but vibrating Gon, who was bouncing on the balls of his feet as Knuckle pushed the doors open.

They arrived in a room that looked a lot like an archery field. The field itself, though, was shorter, and every end was posted with table tops for guests to snack and drink from big jugs of beer. 

And then, Killua saw an axe in the hands of a man that was all muscle and hair, wearing nothing but a pair of basketball shorts and sandals with socks. 

“And— _this one_ —is for that pretty lady over there,” the guy said, pointing the axe at a woman sitting at the table. He kissed the end of the axe as the woman blushed and gasped in excitement when the guy pivoted and chucked the axe down the archery lane.

Gon and Killua jumped at the impact. It sounded like the thuds from across the tavern, but in the actual axe-throwing room, it certainly made the bar live up to its name. 

“Axe throwing?!” Gon shrieked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to go to an axe-throwing bar and it shows.


	13. 13 x heaven's arena

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some platonic ass-slapping, friendly competition, and Uvogin's big, meaty hands.

The big burly guy approached their table almost as soon as they claimed the last empty lane. Killua stared up at the guy, who had the kind of smile that said that he didn’t frown much at all. In fact, Killua was almost certain smiling was the guy’s resting face.

“What can I do ya for, eh?” the guy said, hands on his hips. He took a gander at the lot of them before stopping at Knuckle with a gasp. “You! God, I thought I saw the last of you last spring!”

“Yeah right!” Knuckle shouted, laughing as he leapt out of his seat to give the guy a hulking hug fit to crush a regular human’s bones. Killua grimaced a little at the thought of it. 

Knuckle slapped the guy hard on the back and, likewise, received a slap in reply. The burly guy even went so far as to slap Knuckle on the ass and give him a squeeze. Killua raised an eyebrow and looked at Kurapika, who hid their amusement behind their hand. 

“Guys, meet Uvogin. He owns Big Bang,” Knuckle said, turning with one arm around Uvogin, and the other hand on his hip. 

Uvogin beamed at them all and gave a wave with his massive, meaty hand. Killua put a hand to his throat and swallowed hard. The guy’s hand could easily crush his skull, and it’d be even easier to squash his throat.  _Yikes_ , Killua thought, _but Knuckle doesn’t seem too worried_ .

“Are you two… buddies or something?” Killua asked, and across the table, Kurapika snorted, trying not to laugh.

“We share a complicated love,” Knuckle said.

Uvogin barked out a laugh that rivaled the impact of axes several lanes down. “Fellow alphas,” he explained. He pointed a finger at Gon, who audibly gulped. “Who’s this squirt?”

“Ah, possible new member to the pack.”

“Taking in strays again, I see.”

“Colt was a special case,” Knuckle said. 

“I love that loyal idiot. Is this one also a loyal idiot?”

“Yes,” Killua droned, and if Gon wasn’t so startled by Uvogin being an alpha, Killua was certain he would have gotten shit for it. 

“What can I say? I attract ‘em,” Knuckle said. “I attracted you, didn’t I?” 

Uvogin laughed again and slapped him on the ass one more time before stepping away. “I’ll get you four some axes and send a waiter over.”

“Thanks, man,” Knuckle said. He laughed to himself as he watched Uvogin walk off before taking a seat at the table and scooting in, feet poised on the spokes of his stool. He beamed at all of them, and at last, Kurapika let loose. They slammed a fist onto the table and threw their head back laughing. 

Knuckle blinked in alarm and cried, “ _What?_ What’re you laughin’ at!”

“Your alpha  _bromance_ !” Kurapika said, laughing so hard they snorted. They waved their hand in front of their face as Killua giggled, and hid his face behind his hands when Knuckle frowned at him. “That was too much!” Kurapika cried, laughing harder.

Knuckle turned bright red and sputtered, “Sh-Shut up! It’s  _normal!_ A lot of alphas from different packs greet each other like that, just ask my dad!”

The image of Morel in this situation only amplified their laughter. Killua’s stomach hurt before long, tears collecting at the corners of his eyes. He brushed them away, sobering enough to open his eyes and see that Gon was staring at him. After a split second of confusion, Killua translated the look on Gon’s face to equal that of utter bafflement. 

Killua flushed up to his ears, heart pounding, and said, “Quit staring at me!”

Gon scrambled then, jumping in his stool and turning away with a pout. “I’m not staring!” he whined, hands clutching the seat between his legs. 

At that point, Uvogin had returned, and Gon jumped in surprise at the sight of the hulking alpha depositing a bouquet of axes on their table. The table shook under the weight of their solid metal and wood, and Uvogin said, “That makes four stainless steel hatchets, three of which are weighted.”

“Why only three?” Killua asked.

Uvogin blinked at him, and for the first time, Killua saw his smile falter. Killua stared back, challenging. He knew what Uvogin was thinking: Killua smelled like a regular human—if… a little on the sweet side, according to Kurapika and Hisoka. Humans weren’t generally as tough as werewolves and vampires. 

But Killua’s upbringing made him fit to throw axes like a supernatural.

“I’ll… make that four weighted hatchets, then,” Uvogin said. Killua nodded firmly, and snickered as Uvogin walked off to swap the hatchet. As Uvogin went, the guy twirled the lighter hatchet like it was a simple baton, tossing it idly in the air so it spun and landed squarely in his hand again.

The waiter came to their table for their drink orders, and after ordering around the table, they chatted until Uvogin returned with a tray of drinks and a hatchet for Killua. Uvogin tapped the table as they divvied up the drinks and said, “Y’all know that’s a two-fifty jenny entry-fee—cough it up.”

“Tonight’s on Killua,” Knuckle said immediately.

Killua’s jaw dropped and he cried, “No way! Just ‘cause I won a match doesn’t mean I gotta pay for the rest of you. Besides, I’d sooner buy Godspeed’s axe fee.”

“I agree,” Gon said, already sipping his sweet drink. “Godspeed’s winnings, tonight.”

“So all we get are some fucking umbrellas?” Knuckle whined, slumping to the side. Uvogin patted him on the head as Knuckle continued to pout and whine. 

“Godspeed, eh?” Uvogin hummed, pointing a finger at Killua. He gave it a shake before saying, “I’ve heard of that fighter. That’s you, then?”

“You are in the presence of greatness,” Gon declared, throwing his arms up and making a show of Killua, who straightened and geared up to bitch Gon out.

Before he could say a word, though, Uvogin said, “We get a lot of traffic from Heaven’s Arena. Back when you were on your streak, we would air the fights on the screens at the bar. You were damn good, kid.”

Killua wished he had the spunk to tell the man to shut up and forget about it, but instead, his confidence melted into nothing. He withered a little and propped his head against his hand and muttered, “Thanks, I guess.”

“Well, welcome back to the forefront, kid. Your drink’s on me tonight,” Uvogin said. Killua flushed as Uvogin said, “You  _did_ bring in a crowd. Least I can do.”

“Yeah, sounds good,” Killua agreed. He reached over to pull his drink across the tabletop. 

Knuckle recovered to put in an order of food for the table. Uvogin sent it off with the waiter before claiming a spot at their table to talk about the match against Tygerbyte, which Gon was more than eager to describe. He relayed the way the smoke filled the arena, the sound of everyone crowded into one space, the heat and smell of sweat in the air. 

Gon relayed how he had taken the tech gear from Hisoka, at which point Uvogin laughed and said, “Ah, that guy! I know him! Nightclub owner in Yorknew, yeah?”

“Yeah, that’s him! How do you know him?” Gon said.

“Helped me start my business.”

“Really?” Gon droned, suddenly disinterested. He slumped a little at the good word Uvogin put in for Hisoka, and his depression only spiraled when Uvogin went on.

“Weird guy, but sure knows how to bring in a crowd. People would come just to watch him throw.” 

“Well, they certainly don’t come to hear him talk,” Kurapika said, monotonous. “Well, I’m sure Killua has a better handle on that since you dealt with Hisoka for twenty-four hours.”

“Aside from feeling like my life was constantly being threatened, he was tolerable,” Killua confessed. 

“Don’t say that…” Gon moaned against the table, pouting some more. Uvogin gave him a pat on the head, and that was enough to recover Gon’s energy. He perked back up and said, “Oh! But the fight! Once I had the gear, Tygerbyte was getting ready to  _strike_ , so I  _yell_ into the mic like—”

After finishing their drinks and letting the alcohol lull into their systems, the chatter had only increased, and their energy levels were high. Gon vaulted after Knuckle the instant Knuckle picked up an axe, and together they started muscling off against one another to see who could break the board first. 

Uvogin didn’t seem to care. He was enrapt by a story Kurapika was telling about the Paladiknight restaurant. Evidently, Big Bang wasn’t wholly supernatural-friendly, but it  _did_ attract a supernatural crowd. The food laws in the Republic were stricter than in Yorknew, so the chances were low that Uvogin could established an entirely supernatural axe-throwing bar. It was because of this that Kurapika took to sipping small portions of water as Killua downed his third bottle of cider. 

Killua pushed off of the table and picked up the handle of a hatchet then. Gon and Knuckle were distracted at the plywood board trying to dislodge an axe Gon had thrown hard enough to crack the wood down the middle. Killua tested the weight of the axe in his hand as Gon had his hatchet by both hands, his feet against the wall. Knuckle spotted him as Gon yanked hard and the hatchet came free. He scrambled back and fell into Knuckle’s arms. 

When they separated to march back to the throwing line, Killua tossed his hatchet up so it spun in the air before he caught it in his grasp, sweeping his hand up for the backswing. Gon yelped when he realized what Killua was doing, and he shrieked, “Duck!”

Gon and Knuckle hit the ground as Killua followed through for an expert toss. The hatchet went spiraling to the target. The edge of the blade nailed the bullseye, sending the crack forking off. The wood splintered and swung off the wall. 

Knuckle pushed himself up onto his knees, staring at the damage before looking back at Killua, who brushed his hands together and said, “ _That_ is how you break the board.”

“Sexy,” Knuckle said. 

Killua bristled at the comment as Uvogin slapped his hands on the table and laughed so hard he slipped off his stool a little. He caught himself, staggering with a hand on the tabletop as Knuckle went to fetch Killua’s axe. 

Gon was on his feet in an instant, exclaiming, “Inappropriate!”

“The board was already cracked!” Knuckle said, gesturing to the state of their target. “Bet you couldn’t even break it in one go.”

“Bet on it, then,” Killua said, voice sharp from annoyance. He blamed Knuckle’s loud mouth on the alcohol, but he’d show up that beefy idiot if it was the last thing he did that night. 

Knuckle pointed a finger at Killua, entirely serious, and said, “Deal.”

They got a new board on their lane and mounted it on the wall posts. Killua went to take another sip of his cider as Gon watched from the sidelines with a mix of concern. Killua could see it in his eyes, though—Gon wanted to see Killua break the board almost as much as Uvogin, who was thrilled by the prospect of some “friendly” competition.

Killua didn’t bother with the flourish of his first toss. He reeled back as he stepped up to the mark on the floor. When his foot touched down with all his weight, he flung the hatchet with enough force to send the wind whistling off of the metal before the blade hit home and sunk in grain-by-grain. 

A mighty crack resounded through the field. They had already gotten attention after breaking their first board. Boards weren’t easily cracked, let alone broken, so the sight of a second board going down brought up a roar of approval from the spectators. 

Killua threw his arms up with a triumphant laugh. He clutched his hands into fists and brought them down to show off his biceps. He snickered at Knuckle, who whistled low from his post leant against the fence barrier between the lanes. 

“Nice throw, but there’s no way you can hit the bullseye three times in a row.”

“You gotta stop digging yourself into a hole,” Kurapika called out from the table. “Killua has the best aim I’ve ever seen.”

“I’ll throw again if you tell me how much we’re betting,” Killua said. 

“I’ll give you one thousand.”

“No way. Twenty-five hundred,” Killua said.

“What! But that’s the cost of entry,” Knuckle whined. Killua merely held out his hand with a come-on gesture that Knuckle relented under, slumping down the lane to replace the board. 

Killua stood, poised and proud, at the throwing mark. The table next to them had taken to watching through the fence as Knuckle propped up the next board and gestured dramatically for Killua to go ahead. Killua raised the hatchet up, flicked it in the air, and caught it by the blade. He swung it down for an underhanded toss. 

It careened into the board, shooting past where Knuckle stood off to the side. If they had all been humans, the number of rules they were breaking would have got them kicked out of the bar, but Uvogin was in a tizzy of excitement.

Since they were merely going for accuracy, the strength behind the toss wasn’t enough to crack the board, but it was enough to lodge the blade a half-inch into the bullseye.

“Amazing!” Gon cried from the table, starry-eyed.

Killua turned away from him, the fluttering sensation in his chest returning with the intentions of pulling him up into the clouds. He grounded himself with a swig from his beverage and a scowl at Knuckle and the rest of his spectators. He threw an arm out and said, “Who wants to challenge me next?”

Thus commenced an hour of axe-throwing, bets, and applause. At the end of it all, Killua bowed before the board that was now riddled with hatchets. It was easier to ignore Gon and Kurapika’s praise when a dozen other folks were clapping eagerly for more. Though, by that time, their food had come and gone and, with their stomachs full, exhaustion settled in. 

“It sounds like Killua’s got a place at Heaven’s Arena now,” Kurapika said. “We’ll find a hotel nearby since there probably isn’t enough room for the four of us.”

“Aw, but I wanna stay with Killua,” Gon whined.

“Then stay with Killua,” Knuckle insisted with a casual shrug. 

“I can set you two up on the second floor,” Uvogin suggested to Knuckle and Kurapika. “It’s nothing fancy, but it’ll do for a short stay.”

“That… sounds excellent. Thank you,” Kurapika said with a hint of surprise. They glanced at Knuckle, who beamed at them as if to say, “ _Alphas can be civil, too_ .” It immediately soured Kurapika’s expression. 

They paid for their meals then. Gon’s plate was still half-full, but considering Knuckle’s lack of concern, Killua told himself that it was fine as long as Gon was eating more than he did just the week before. Every little bit counted at this point. 

It was still raining when they left The Big Bang. From the sidewalk they waved to Kurapika and Knuckle, who shouted, “We’ll meet here tomorrow morning!”

Gon gave him a thumbs up before turning to follow after Killua, who was already crossing the cobbled street in the direction of Heaven’s Arena. The granary was visible from The Big Bang, and in the rainy evening, it turned into an eerie silhouette that glowed around the edges with flashing, neon lights. 

“You were really good back there,” Gon said, jogging up to Killua’s side. The rain drummed against their umbrellas as Killua glanced at his friend, who smiled so wide that his eyes squeezed shut. 

Killua turned away with a grimace. He rubbed the back of his neck and said, “Yeah, well, I’m better at darts.”

“Is cider alcoholic?” Gon asked in that curious way Killua recognized from when they were kids. The intonation was so similar, so unchanged, that Killua wound up stumbling over his words.

“I-I mean,  _yeah_ , but—”

Gon hummed and poked a finger at Killua’s cheek, which was already red from Gon’s compliment. Killua slapped his hand away as Gon said, “Are you drunk then?”

“ _No!_ I don’t get drunk, Gon, you know that,” Killua said. His superhuman tolerance for alcohol was yet another courtesy of his family and his genetics. If he was just another human, he was certain to be a lightweight—

Like Gon.

Gon groaned a little, rolling his eyes away. “Well that’s no fun! You’ve never even been  _tipsy?_ ”

“Not really, no.”

“Maybe there’s something out there that’ll get you drunk,” Gon said, swinging his arm out at the great wide world.

Killua wasn’t convinced. “Considering how often  _you’ve_ been drinking,  _someone_ has to make sure you don’t go marking your territory on the nearest building.”

Killua snickered as Gon whipped around to scowl at him. Killua giggled evilly as he dodged Gon’s swipe at his face. Killua’s mental list of things that made Werewolf Gon totally worth it lengthened to include Making Ridiculous Dog Jokes Whenever Possible, if only to see the way Gon reacted. And, with Gon drunk, his reactions were over the top.

Because of this, Killua wound up piggy-backing Gon to Heaven’s Arena. 

Gon still had the keys from when they were walking, and so Gon passed them to the security guard posted outside of the Arena gate. The security guard examined the room number before handing the key back. Gon thanked the man with a delighted, cheesy smile. Killua rolled his eyes and continued on, hoisting Gon a bit higher on his back. 

They cut around the fighting arena and down one of the corridors leading to the fighter rooms. The corridor was blocked by another iron wrought fence that Killua swiped them into. The lock lifted and he pushed through with his shoulder, spinning into the corridor as Gon said, “Brings back memories, huh?”

“Yeah. Looks like it’s the same room, too,” Killua said. Gon was holding the key out so that Killua could see the room number. When they had been hunting down leads, their win at the Arena gave them three months in one of the fighter rooms. They took that to their advantage when scouring the Republic for that rogue wolf pack.

As Killua climbed the stairs to their floor, Gon swung his legs idly on either side of Killua like he was some toddler. Killua scoffed as he stopped in front of their door and pointedly dropped Gon’s legs. Gon staggered onto his feet, wavering a little before catching himself against the wall. He made quite a show of catching his balance, and were he sober, Killua was certain that drop wouldn’t have fazed Gon so much. 

Killua slapped a hand over his face as he pushed open their room door.

The room was nearly identical to the one they were last assigned. Killua’s breath caught in his throat at the sudden, vivid memory that came to mind. They were thirteen and reckless, with too much energy and too much time on their hands. The image of Gon springing from the bed to the couch brought a pained smile to Killua’s lips before young, innocent Gon dissolved into the air and was replaced with a malnourished, drunken idiot.

Gon stood beside him, seeming just as enthralled by the memories as Killua was. They had spent so much time in this very room.

Gon turned his smile onto Killua, who blinked and turned away to toss his rucksack onto the couch. “I’ll take the couch,” Killua said.

“I’ll take the bed,” Gon sang, flopping onto the mattress. He twisted around and settled in. The rain pattered against the windowpane behind the couch as Killua rolled a blanket over the cushions. Gon tossed him a pillow from the bed, and with it, Killua collapsed with a long, drawn-out sigh. 

The night ended quick, but it was reanimated shortly after Killua closed his eyes and decided that he couldn’t sleep. Not only did the room remind him of the long, exciting hunt with Gon, but it also resurfaced the memories of being stuck in the room with Illumi and Milluki. His first connection with demons had left Killua sleepless for weeks. 

The rain trickled down from the gutter, dripping against the glass. Killua turned his eyes up to it and watched the freckled shadows shimmer on the edge of the couch. A distant street lamp cast a faint, orange hue into the room. 

Killua traced one such shadow as the rain droplet dribbled down. 

“Hey Killua?” Gon whispered, startling Killua. 

Killua tipped his head back to look at the bed. There, the light faintly captured Gon’s face turned towards him, sprinkled over with fuzzy shadows from the window. “Yeah?” Killua said, hushed.

“Are you awake?”

Killua snorted and went back to staring at the window. “Duh,” he said. 

A beat of silence. Killua glanced back, wondering if Gon had fallen asleep, but it was then that Gon cleared his throat and said, quietly, “I’m sorry the academies didn’t accept you.”

Killua’s brow furrowed before his mind even processed what Gon had said. He stared at Gon for the time it took his chest to start aching. The rejections hadn’t felt like much of anything until that moment. He grew numb after the second, but he couldn’t stop there. He had to visit all of them, exhaust all of his options, before ever coming back to Whale Island.

His throat tightened as he looked away and tried to clear it. “Why are you apologizing?”

“I feel bad about it. You deserve to go to a great school.”

Killua’s cheeks flushed as he turned his back on Gon to say, “No, they’re right. I’d just cause more trouble for them if I went. Who knows how long it will take to clean my slate?”

“Yeah, but… you have potential. They should see that,” Gon insisted. “If you’re great with dark magic, imagine what you can do with light magic.”

“Yeah, well, maybe  _you_ should go to sorcery school. They’d sooner accept werewolves than they would dark sorcerers,” Killua said. When Gon said nothing, Killua found it odd. He expected a laugh, or some silly comment. So when that didn’t happen, Killua turned back around to see what the trouble was.

Gon had his eyes on the blankets, twisting it around his finger and off of it.

“What?” Killua said. 

Gon shook his head. “I… couldn’t go to academy,” he said, almost too quiet for Killua to hear. Killua nearly got out of his bed just to sit closer, but Gon was already talking again. “I can’t even use magic anymore, Killua.”

_Of course he can use magic. Werewolves can be sorcerers, too_ , Killua thought. The pack they hunted was proof of that, was proof of dark magic in the werewolf community. It was bullshit for Gon to say something as dramatic as that when it just  _wasn’t true_ . 

Killua opened his mouth to say as much, but thought better of it. Gon’s eyes were glassy, but Killua couldn’t see it until Gon blinked fast and rubbed a hand over one eye. Their eyes met, and Killua realized that he had gotten up on one elbow without thinking twice about it, fully facing Gon. 

“Gon, what are you saying,” Killua whispered.

Gon sat up a little. “I’m saying that Pitou took my magic when she turned me.”

_I should have been there_ , Killua thought.

_I could have prevented this_ .

“Why didn’t you tell me earlier?” Killua demanded, biting back the edge of fury in his voice. It didn’t stop his muscles from tensing, though, the regret and anguish from leaving Gon behind and coming back to Gon in  _this state_ … it was too much for Killua to cope with. It all blended into an acidic pot of guilt eating away at his insides.

“Because you were helping me find a pack and I didn’t want to add more to your plate. And I’m fine with it—I don’t need magic, Killua—”

Killua slumped on the couch as Gon went on. He put a hand to his head and curled his fingers through his hair.

It wasn’t Gon’s inability to  _use_ magic that bothered Killua. It was the connection Gon had with it. The link that connected Gon to the earth, to life was, by all means, severed. He remembered how grateful Gon was of his magic, if only to feel the grass beneath his fingers in a new way, to sense more than just sea salt on the breeze. Light magic elevated a sorcerer’s existence—enlightened them, really, to the world as a whole, because in order to use magic, a sorcerer had to give back. Such a relationship with nature was intimate.

Being a werewolf couldn’t replace that. Being a part of the food chain wasn’t the same. 

“How did she do it,” Killua said, voice hoarse. Gon stopped talking to blink owlishly at Killua, who insisted, “How did she break the connection, Gon?”

Based on Gon’s discussion with Morel on turning werewolves, he knew it was a sore subject. Thinking about it left Killua feeling sick, but he could deal with a bit of nausea if it meant assessing the damage so that he could rewrite where it all went wrong.

Gon shook his head. “No. I don’t want your help.”

“Gon, come on, I’m serious—”

“So am I!” Gon said. “I screwed up— _I_ want to fix it. I’m going to fix it, and I’m going to find Kaito to do it. I haven’t given up, Killua, and I know how you feel about going after Pitou, so you don’t have to come with me.”

Killua’s heart throbbed in his throat. “You’re leaving?” he said, cursing his broken voice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gon: "Now you know how it FEELS."
> 
> I haven't been in the fandom very long but it feels like the Uvogin x Knuckle bromance doesn't exist?? but it's so real?? Like, they've never met because Uvogin's DEAD but IF ANYONE HAS UVOGIN X KNUCKLE BROMANCE RECOMMENDATIONS, HIT ME UP.
> 
> Edit: I just updated the tags and THE UVOGIN X KNUCKLE RELATIONSHIP TAG DOESN'T EXIST SO I'M MAKING ONE TRY AND STOP ME, FOOLS !!!


	14. 14 x heaven's arena

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Knuckle and Uvogin have a "slumber party" and, thanks to Gon's loud mouth, the whole world knows about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a very specific headcanon I'd like to share with you guys.
> 
> Gon... LOVES the Mamma Mia soundtrack, but he canNOT sit through a musical for the life of him—he'd rather be a part of the musical if he wasn't so TONE DEAF so in a modern AU, Gon would be one of the stunt men in spandex on Broadway productions who's there just to hoist girls up during choreographed dance routines.

**K** illua knew Gon heard the break in his voice just based on the way Gon hesitated, staring at him in the dark. The moonlight caught on his eyes the way it would a cat—pupils wide, reflecting brightly on their respected tapetum lucidum so that, for a split second, Gon looked like a demon. It was all Killua could look at, and he couldn’t help but laugh at it. 

He covered the giggle with his hand. He looked away, shoulders shaking, and Gon shrieked, “Are you  _crying!?_ Why are you crying!”

“I’m  _laughing_ , you idiot! Your pupils are so fucking huge your retinas are reflecting light,” Killua said, laughing harder at the thought of Gon panicking over him crying. 

He flopped back on the bed, kicking his legs out as Gon whined over his laughter, “Stop laughing, I can’t help it! _Killua!_ ”

Killua couldn’t quite recover, not when Gon looked like  _that_ , and certainly not when stopping meant fighting back tears. Before he knew it, though, Gon had climbed out of the bed to join Killua on the couch.

Gon claimed the now-empty spot where Killua’s head used to be. Killua pulled his knees up to his chest to make room, trying his best to smother his smile. Gon pushed his hands to his ankles and leant closer. “ _There_ . Are they glowing now?”

“No, they aren’t,” Killua reassured, but confirming it brought his gaze level with Gon’s. Gon’s pupils were noticeably large, and once again, Killua was brought back to the visual of the wolf in the forest—of Pitou, staring him down through the underbrush. Killua scanned Gon’s face, though, erasing the image of a fully shifted wolf from his mind’s eye. 

This was Gon—mostly human, somewhat wolf, but still all together there with Killua on the couch. 

“I want to wait,” Gon said. Killua blinked, jumping to conclusions fast enough to give him whiplash. When Gon finally  _did_ confirm it, Killua was already blushing. “To leave. I want to leave with you, and with Kurapika.”

“Why Kurapika?” Killua asked, startled by their inclusion. 

Gon shook his head. “I don’t know. I just want them with.”

_Perhaps I’m not the only member of this pack anymore_ , Killua wondered, thinking back to Uvogin’s axe-throwing bar. For the majority of the stay, Gon had sat with Kurapika and Uvogin at the table. Gon had driven to Heaven with them, stayed in the same flat as them. 

Killua nodded, hesitant at first, and then with more conviction. “Yeah. Okay, that sounds good. I don’t know what sort of plans Kurapika has.”

Gon brightened, his hand clutching at the back cushion against Killua’s side. “Can you promise me? That you’ll come with?”

The answer was on the tip of Killua’s tongue.  _Yes, of course_ , but  _‘of course’_ meant no more running. Killua would have to endure it all—the excitement, the emotional torture, the physical danger. He put up with it once before, but he was a kid back then. He had once been oblivious and ignorant, but now? 

Not so much.

Real life had real consequences now. Whatever bubble he and Gon existed in as children shattered when Pitou came between them.

Killua swallowed hard, knowing that enough silence had passed to make evidence of Killua’s reluctance. 

Gon’s bright expression faded to a slight frown, brow furrowing. “What is it?” he asked. “Did I do something wrong?”

“I—” Killua started, voice straining. He couldn’t rip it out of his throat even if he wanted to. The look on Gon’s face made it impossible for him to say it and expect to make things better. “It’s just… It’s me, Gon, it’s not you. I just need to think about it, I guess.”

“Oh,” Gon hummed, settling back on his heels. Killua’s insides shriveled. The last time he had said no to Gon over something serious, their relationship fell out of order and shattered on the downfall. After a moment, he perked up again and said, “Okay, yeah. Just… let me know when you decide.”

Killua bowed his head, throat tightening even as he swallowed. He couldn’t bring himself to apologize, and even if he did loathe himself for breaking the basic rules of friendship, apologizing for it would hurt even more than hiding it. 

Gon, however, seemed to sense it. In the next moment, Killua found himself enveloped in Gon’s warmth, the weight of Gon’s arms around his shoulders. Killua blinked his eyes open to Gon’s knees buried in the blankets beside him, shifting close. Killua leant into the hug after a moment, his head tucked against the front of Gon’s shoulder. 

He let out a shuddering breath as he felt Gon’s chin come to rest on the back of his neck. Gon squeezed tightly, enough to cause Killua’s ribcage to ache. He didn’t care, though, because like Gon, Killua was selfish. He wanted this hug more than anything, and the timing couldn’t have been better. 

The ache in his chest remained, though, as the minutes passed. He fell asleep to the tension in his ribcage blossoming into something irreversible. 

 

* * *

 

Killua blinked awake, his nose pressed against something that smelled faintly of stale, unwashed clothes. It wasn’t a terrible smell by any means, but that, coinciding with his own greasy skin, reminded him of where he was and the shower that was awaiting him. 

When he pushed himself up, the heel of his palm dug harshly into something  _squishy_ .

He jumped at the very human  _groan_ that followed the force. His hand shot up and he slipped a little, cursing as he grappled for the edge of the couch and raised himself up onto his knees. 

He was straddling Gon Freecs. 

Gon twisted to the side, face scrunched up in agony. He clasped onto his abdomen where Killua had effectively crushed his spleen. 

The abrupt intrusion, while still welcome, was unexpected for Killua’s muddled morning brain. He stared openly down at Gon, who pushed himself up onto his elbows, grimacing as he rubbed a hand over his eyes. The window behind the couch was still open, but the rain persisted, shedding cool, faint light into the room where Gon opened his amber eyes and realized the situation at hand. 

They stared at one another, their shock dissolving into two very distinct branches: that of horror, and that of hilarity. 

The instant Gon’s expression cracked into a smile, Killua was back in motion. He flung himself off of the couch, unhooking his legs from around Gon as he screamed, “ _Gon!_ What the hell?!”

“Is that what I looked like after Thir13en?” Gon asked, and followed up by mocking the horror on Killua’s face. 

Killua swept onto the bed where he grabbed a pillow and flung it at Gon. Gon caught it and flung it back, only to scream when Killua came at him with the rage of a full grown beast. He battered Gon with the pillow until at last he relented, chucking it against a wall as he said, “I’m going to shower.”

“To get all the  _coodies off_ ,” Gon teased.

“Would you prefer I bathe in your  _blood?_ ” Killua threatened, taking a march towards Gon. Gon put his arms up in defense, but Killua’s threats did little to discourage Gon. 

Killua stormed to the bathroom where he shut the door and locked it, his heart thudding against his ribcage. He stared at the opposite wall above the toilet, all but panting, his eyes wide.  _I have to calm down_ , he told himself, hands clenching against the wooden door frame. He used it to hold himself up before pushing off to yank the shower curtain closed and turn on the water. 

The moment the water was running, he gathered the limited free supplies in the cabinet. Shampoo, body wash, and a questionable toothbrush. He chucked the toothbrush as he chanted to himself to calm down, or else. Or else Gon would hear him—they weren’t in a supernatural apartment complex anymore. Gon could probably hear his heartbeat right this very second.

He remembered accounting for this with Pitou, and how long both he and Gon had trained to use magic to conceal their presence. He had done so accidentally in front of Gon, and the look on Gon’s face said it all: It made him uncomfortable, disoriented him, so Killua told himself not to do that again. 

Killua clenched his hands together in front of him under the spray of water. He opened his left hand, fingers trembling. He could still feel the shape of Gon’s abdomen underneath it, when he had put all of his weight on his one hand and effectively crushed Gon’s spleen.

He closed his hand with a sigh and stared at the shower ceiling light. He was doomed.

 

* * *

 

Killua was busy counting out his money later that morning. He sat himself on the floor beside the bed, stacking paper bills into clumps. Thus was how he was interrupted by Gon returning from The Great Unknown with Knuckle and Kurapika on his heels. 

“Did you figure it out yet?” Gon asked.

Killua glanced over his shoulder at the three of them before turning back around. “Almost… I need this model here,” he said, holding out his phone to Gon. Gon picked it up and showed the linking dock to Knuckle and Kurapika. Knuckle was sipping coffee, which distracted Killua enough to lose count. “You can drink coffee?”

“Hm? Oh, yeah, coffee’s okay for most supernatural species. Kurapika can drink coffee,” Knuckle said, pointing his thumb over to Kurapika, who looked up from the linking dock to meet Killua’s surprise.

“I don’t like coffee,” they said.

_I guess that explains why I’ve never seen coffee around_ , he mused. 

“You’ll need over a hundred thousand jenny for this gear,” Kurapika said. “How much did you even  _get_ from that one match?”

“The bets were skewed because of the delayed announcement, so it isn’t entirely accurate for my next match,” Killua explained. He tapped a finger to his chin and hummed, “Oh, right—Gon, did you sign us up?”

“Yup! Tonight at nine,” Gon declared. He came to sit beside Killua on the rug, his legs folded under him, his hands on his knees. He leant over to count the stacks along with Killua before at last coming to the conclusion: “Five hundred  _thousand?!_ ”

“That’s fifty thousand, Gon,” Killua deadpanned. Gon grimaced, rubbing the back of his head guiltily as Knuckle pushed a hand down on his shoulder and leant over to see the cash. “And some is just from betting with Knuckle, so it isn’t even all there anymore. Just one more fight and we should be good to go.”

“Good to go  _how?_ What are you planning on doing with a link if ya aren’t gonna be fighting with it?” Knuckle asked.

Killua started scooping up the money and folding it into a neat pile. “If I can get a strong enough link, I’ll be able to find and connect with different demons. Supposedly, there are daemons I could connect to, but it requires an immense amount of concentration and magic, and even then holding a connection puts a strain on a person.”

At this, he glanced over at Kurapika, whose expression soured. Gon gasped a little and pointed to them, saying, “Daemons are number four on your hit list!”

“I don’t approve of this method,” Kurapika said.

“What’s the difference between demons and daemons?” Kurapika asked. 

“Demons are malicious, malevolent beings. Daemons are guiding spirits, whereas daimons—with an ‘i’ rather than an ‘e’—are legendary deities. No one has connected with a daimon, though, so proof of divinity is limited. I’ve only heard of one person connecting with a daemon using a link enhancer, but it’s as close as I can get.”

“Get to what?” Gon asked. 

“Natural power in dark magic,” Killua explained. “Daemons are neither good nor evil, neither light nor dark. Connecting with one will put me somewhere in the middle.”

“That makes sense,” Kurapika said, and it drew their attention over to where Kurapika paced away from the circle, a hand to their chin, the gears turning in their head. “Daemons are ancient guiding spirits. Some texts describe them as nature spirits as well, but at the very least they’re often confused with the jinni.”

“Jinni? What the hell is that?” Knuckle asked, looking to Killua for an explanation. Likewise, Gon turned to him.

“Jinni, like a genie,” Killua said. 

Knuckle hummed in understanding, and Gon turned back to Kurapika to ask more about genies and daemons. Killua pinched his thumbnail between his teeth and watched the exchange with a faraway look in his eyes. 

There was a very defined scale of daemons and, at the end of the day, genies were not to be messed with. Killua knew this due to what he understood of his own family’s “dilemma” that started with a link connection gone wrong. Genies were not as benign as an average daemon and, more often than not, were out for blood. Killua’s youngest sister Alluka was proof of that.

_Alluka was even younger than me when she made her connection_ , Killua told himself.  _I can avoid mutinous spirits_ .

Killua packed his rucksack back up for safekeeping and shouldered it for the short jaunt away from Heaven’s Arena. They locked their room door behind them and were off. Killua tugged his hoodie up as they passed the fighting ring, where a beast fight was happening. The commotion from the crowd pushed them towards the exit, through the fog, and out onto the cobbled streets. 

The vendors were all closed due to the rainy weather, and the shops and restaurants down the Arena strip were packed. It was a hectic day, with people filing out under the awnings waiting for a table. Killua and his group bypassed them all, though, with their new umbrellas opened to the sky. They made their journey to the five-way intersection of The Big Bang for a hearty breakfast. 

The axe-throwing room was closed for the morning, as was the remainder of the bar, but the kitchen was open and warm for brunch hour. Several of the benches were occupied by the time the group arrived.

They intercepted Uvogin, who was in the middle of chatting up a group seated at one of the tables. Uvogin dismissed himself to stand and sweep an arm around Knuckle’s shoulders. Knuckle beamed, and Killua saw the similarities with Gon’s consistent reaction whenever Knuckle pat his head. He started to understand the alpha appeal, since it appeared even alphas were subject to the same calming effects with one another.

“You three grab a seat. Knuckle—mind helping me in the kitchen?” Uvogin said, pointing his thumb back to the bar where the kitchen door was. 

Knuckle agreed and left them with a thumbs up before turning away. Killua tipped his head curiously to the side as he assessed the way Knuckle laughed at something Uvogin said, his hand clasped on the taller werewolf’s shoulders. Knuckle was muscular, yes, but he was dense and stocky. Uvogin, on the other hand, had all of the height and weight of a bulldozer. 

“How was it at Uvogin’s place?” Killua asked Kurapika, who rubbed a hand idly over the side of their face. 

Kurapika groaned and said, “Honestly, I didn’t spend much time there. I found a twenty-four-hour café down the road.”

“You sound annoyed,” Gon observed, settling onto one of the empty benches. Killua went to join him, sitting opposite Gon as Kurapika leant against the table and sighed. 

“Yeah, because I left at midnight and came back at four in the morning and they were still making a racket,” they said.

Killua wasn’t going to ask, but he was still curious. Thankfully, Gon seemed to have the same idea, which saved Killua a heap of trouble. “What sort of racket?”

“ _Thee_ racket,” Kurapika said, with emphasis. “Like, the only sort of racket you make at midnight to four A.M.”

“Music?” Gon said. Killua slapped a hand over his face and watched the way Kurapika blinked at Gon’s stupidity.

“Oy vey,” Kurapika sighed, hunkering down. “I’m just going to leave it at this: A very literal bromance.”

“Huh,” Gon hummed. 

Kurapika laughed and shared a look with Killua, who rolled his eyes and said, “Well, that saves a whole lot of guesswork for me.”

“Yeah, and it explains why he was so eager to come with us to Heaven’s Arena,” they said. “I thought it was a bit odd that Knuckle chose to leave the pack behind.”

“Do you think Uvo has a pack?” Gon asked. 

“I don’t know,” Kurapika confessed. “I don’t think any of the waiting staff are wolves.”

Killua knew where Gon was going with it, but they had done their research and knew the answer. Alphas were a good mix in small doses, but they were greedy and selfish by nature. Knuckle’s pack was his territory, and entrusting another alpha with his property would lead to irritability and a sharper temper. He’d question the alpha and himself, whittling his sanity down to a fine point before piercing the other alpha with it under the guise of, “ _I’m protecting my pack._ ”

Morel was a special case, though. Having raised Knuckle, he integrated an alpha before Knuckle ever even showed signs of being one. Knuckle had always known Morel as his respected superior, and that hierarchy saved them the trouble of a civil war. 

When Knuckle returned, it was with food, and he arrived in the face of Gon’s bright amazement. The obvious shift in atmosphere had Knuckle hesitating after setting the tray of food down. 

Knuckle took a step back from the table, staring Gon down, who stared back, smile widening. Killua covered his face and blocked his view of this disaster that was bound to transpire. Kurapika, on the other hand, watched with amusement as they sipped from their glass of water. 

“What—” Knuckle started.

“Are you and Uvo dating?” Gon asked. 

Knuckle sputtered in alarm. He looked frantically back at the closed kitchen door before sliding into the bench next to Gon to hiss, voice low, “Could you  _say it any louder?_ “

“Yeah,” Gon said, sucking in a deep breath in preparation to scream it. Knuckle slapped his hand over Gon’s mouth before he could.

“I oughta punch you right now,” Knuckle hissed. “We  _aren’t_ dating. We had this discussion yesterday.”

“Now that I think of it,” Gon said, voice muffled behind Knuckle’s hand, “your had smells like Uvo.”

Knuckle yanked his hand away and shook it off, like Gon had just licked him. Gon was simply smiling, though, as Killua stifled a giggle behind his hand. Kurapika’s quiet demeanor began to slide into a grin. 

“You’re an embarrassment, you know that? I don’t know why I ever decided I liked you. I keep attracting all these strays I  _don’t want_ and it’s  _exhausting_ ,” Knuckle said, throwing his hand out before slamming it on the table so hard that all of their plates shook on the tray. Kurapika made a point to steady their water glass.

Gon offered a sickeningly sweet smile before reaching across the table to pull a plate near him. It signaled the start of the meal, but did not end Knuckle’s annoyance even as Uvogin joined them shortly after. Killua scooped up a spoonful of oatmeal as Uvogin dragged a stool over to the end of the table between Kurapika and Knuckle, looking far too large for that puny chair. He propped a hand on his knee, one foot propped up on the spokes, and glanced across the four of them. 

Knuckle was still pissy, and Gon was still smiling even as he tore into a chicken leg.

“Have you ever eaten beaver?” Gon asked Uvogin.

Uvogin snorted and said, “Weird question. I mean, yeah, of course. Every werewolf has eaten a little beaver. I mean, ask a human if they’ve had mac and cheese and you’re gonna get the same answer.”

“Is it really that common?” Gon wondered aloud.

Uvogin blinked at him before slapping his hand on the table and leaning forward. “Are you telling me you haven’t eaten  _beaver?_ What’s Knuckle been teaching you over there? Your parents, even?”

“My mom isn’t a werewolf,” Gon said, shaking his head.

“What about your dad, eh?”

Gon shook his head and shrugged. “I don’t know, never met my dad. Kaito wasn’t a werewolf either—my uncle. I was turned.”

Uvogin settled back with a startled look on his face. He sucked in a deep breath and crossed his arms. “Well, that does it. Explains your size, then.”

“Knuckle said we’re starting physical training today,” Gon told him. 

“Can’t say I’ve ever worked with a full-grown pup,” Uvogin confessed, looking to Knuckle.

Knuckle choked a little on his food, and Killua was certain Gon’s outburst earlier was still fresh on Knuckle’s mind. Knuckle pushed the back of his hand over his mouth and shrugged, saying, “I-I mean, it can’t be much different than born wolves. We just have to break his usual gym regimen. Resistance training for wolves is more…”

“Intense,” Killua finished, and Knuckle nodded. Killua could see that, just judging on the strength Gon had already shown in his current state. His vertical leap at Thir13en was, once again, proof of the difference between wolves and humans. Gon could bench his usual weight at the gym, but now it would be the equivalent of Killua pressing less than half his usual weight. Knuckle would have Gon shouldering 300 pounds. 

“He still has to monitor the fight tonight,” Killua reminded Knuckle.

“He’ll be fine in time for that,” Knuckle insisted.

Gon would not, in fact, be “fine in time for that,” but when Gon could still move, he was eager for Killua and Kurapika to join them. Kurapika had little to no need for a gym pass, as their diet prevented them from needing it. Killua, on the other hand, hadn’t touched a gym since he and Gon last trained together. Getting to the academies often required long days of walking and hiking with the weight of his rucksack on his back. He had unintentionally improved his endurance and stamina, but strength training was another thing entirely. 

At least his legs were in shape, though.

Uvogin’s gym was just a few blocks over from The Big Bang. It was under the radar, unmarked, but still buzzing with activity. The tall, narrow stretches of windows covered two floors of equipment and cast a bright glow through the warehouse where Uvogin swiped his card in and set them up with guest passes. The front desk lady handed them each a key to a locker, but Gon insisted that he didn’t need one. 

As they walked, Knuckle and Uvogin strode ahead, discussing Gon’s training regimen. Gon remained blissfully unaware—Killua didn’t doubt that he  _could_ hear it, he just chose to ignore it.

“I’m kind of sad,” Gon confessed, but he didn’t sound sad.

When Killua and Kurapika realized that Gon wouldn’t speak again unless promptly Kurapika sighed and said, “Why?”

“Because Uvo and Knuckle could never get married,” he said. 

Killua snorted and Kurapika let out a startled laugh. They looked off across the railing from the second floor, which was surrounded by ellipticals and treadmills. Knuckle and Uvogin were distracted across the way, entering the locker rooms. “You really are their number one fan,” they commented, turning back to Gon.

Gon agreed, and Killua rolled his eyes. “I never really thought about it until you mentioned it,” Gon explained to Kurapika. “About relationships and stuff. Like you and Leorio.”

Killua was too shocked to even gasp. His wide-eyes turned onto Kurapika, who showed all the signs of embarrassed surprise. Kurapika’s mouth fell open, shoulders tense. It was the first and only time Killua ever saw physical evidence of Kurapika being part human, because before he knew it, Kurapika was  _blushing_ . 

_Kurapika never blushes. They’re the coolest cucumber known to mankind_ , Killua thought. He was certain Kurapika’s body temperature even prevented it.

“Gon!” they said, voice cracking with panic. “Why would you—? We aren’t!”

Gon whined, pouting. “Aw, really? I was so sure. He wanted to come on the trip so badly.”

“Y-Yeah, because he likes to procrastinate!” Kurapika said, but Killua knew it was a lie. Leorio was as far from the definition of a procrastinator as they could get. A month after proclaiming war on society in the middle of Thir13en, the restaurant was under construction. 

Just then, Knuckle leant out of the locker room to shout Gon’s name. Gon stood at attention and saluted Kurapika, saying, “I gotta go! Just know I’m rooting for you!”

Kurapika stammered unsuccessfully for a few seconds, but by then, Gon was already bounding up to Knuckle for a pat on the head. Killua snickered to himself, thinking,  _He’s too fucking proud of himself_ .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me, frantically refreshing my bookmarks for the 6th time today: "WHY ISN'T ANYONE UPDATING THEIR FICS—o wait I haven't updated today yet." 
> 
> In other news, I'm looking to read more HXH FICS so if you hAVE A FAVORITE ONE hit me up dude.


	15. 15 x heaven's arena

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seconds are served on a silver platter featuring Killua's bulbous ass and Hisoka's shit-eating grin.

**H** eaven’s Arena was swarming with people long before the match time. Three hours before, the group arrived down the street to the sight of a packed road, people buzzing in waiting lines. Vendors were shouting deals, and people waving tickets were selling out fast. Killua pulled the collar up on his hoodie, his hair covered. Amongst all of the buzz was Godspeed’s name. 

During their time at the gym, the clouds broke, and Kurapika was back to wearing long sleeved shirts, gloves, and high-collared shirts. They used their umbrella to gain space in the crowd, and so Killua hid amongst Kurapika’s shadow as they moved on. 

A hand came around his arm, and he turned to find Gon shuffling close. Gon stared down the people who happened to look in their direction, and for the moment, Killua was grateful. He didn’t want to make a scene before the fight even started.

When they at last arrived at the gate, they had to squeeze past the crowds to get in. Killua showed his room key to the security guard, who studied it before handing it back and letting them in. The key card was enough of a hint to the crowd nearest them, and before Killua could take a step towards the open threshold, someone yanked on the back of his hoodie. 

He turned, fully prepared to punch the idiot who did it, but the instant he did, they were met with frantic screams. Knuckle cursed, thrusting his arms up to block the onslaught of people trying to reach for Killua. Knuckle turned back, shouting, “ _Go!_ I’ll meet you inside!”

Killua scrambled ahead, yanked forward by Kurapika and Gon through the gate. The instant they were through, the security guard locked the entrance. Knuckle was shoved up against the iron, and through the fog, it looked like a zombie horror film with clawed arms reaching out through the slits in the gate, grasping at Killua desperately.

Killua cursed under his breath, straightening his hoodie and tugging it back up over his hair. “Animals,” he muttered, turning on his heels and marching ahead. 

“I didn’t realize Godspeed was so famous,” Gon said. The Arena corridors were quieter in comparison to the streets, since entry to the event wouldn’t start for another hour. 

“Heaven’s Arena is the center of the city. People from all over the world come to watch these events,” Kurapika told him. “Anyone who breaks a record is bound to get that same treatment.”

“Break what record?” Gon asked.

“Winning streak,” Killua said, keeping his eyes down as they turned the corner towards the stairwell. There was a group of people in the hall, and he waited until they passed before explaining, “Two hundred wins in two months—I was fighting three times a day, seven days a week. Sometimes more, if Godspeed needed more time to regenerate.”

“Why did you fight so frequently?”

Killua didn’t respond, because it wasn’t up to him. Saying that Illumi made him would only make his throat close up at the memory of it. Illumi’s schedule was only possible because Killua couldn’t afford to deem it  _im_ possible. Killua was certain he and Milluki would have taken their sweet time, but Illumi was in charge then. As the eldest sibling, Illumi was left to supervise and manage them at the Arena. 

In the basement of the Arena, the commotion became muffled to a dull roar beyond the channel of tunnels beneath the fighting ring. There was a row of stadium seats that were torn from the bleachers, so they took their posts there and waited for the coming fight. 

Killua glanced over at Gon as they sat down. Gon put a foot up on the chair with a sigh. “You good?” Killua asked. 

Gon startled a little before settling back in, saying, “Yeah, I’m fine.”

Gon closed his fists and, with one elbow propped on his knee, put one to his cheek. The skin on his palms was raw from the gym, and he could feel how swollen the skin was just based on how tight his fingers felt, closed against his palm. The blisters were opening up, tearing, little-by-little, but he’d rather put up with this than let someone else monitor Killua during the fight.

His jaw clenched, teeth squeaking together. He couldn’t believe Killua let Hisoka be his technician. Of all of the people to trust with a demon’s magic output, Hisoka was the last person to come to mind. Gon was shaking before he could stop himself, his foot tapping anxiously against the chair. Killua was  _his_ responsibility now, not Hisoka. 

Killua was  _his_ .

Gon’s mind halted at that. He repeated it in his head, lowering his hand from his chin.

Killua was his  _best friend_ , he finished, but immediately shook that from his thoughts. 

It was more than that, he was sure of it. He never felt this way about his best friend before, like he needed to protect Killua at all costs. Like he  _needed_ to be at Killua’s side in case something happened, in case he wasn’t there when Killua needed him most.

His skin trembled at the memory from that morning when his arms were around Killua, fast asleep. The constant chatter in Gon’s head that rattled his brain against his skull had faded then, calmed by the reassurance that, at the very least, his best friend was safe and  _there_ . Killua was  _here_ for the first time in  _years_ .

Gon’s muscles ached to move, but when he did, his muscles strained. He stood and stretched his arms high over his head, pulling at the taunt, warm tension in his limbs from working out. As the time ticked onwards, closer to the fight, the buzz up in the arena atrium began to swell, booming with energy, with voices, and the rhythm of footsteps across the concrete. 

Gon listened to it all, his senses working their way around the fog. The more time he spent in the thick of it, the more he could interpret. It was because of this that he ever sensed Knuckle coming, an hour before the start time. 

Knuckle came jogging around the corner. “Everyone’s gearing up for the fight. Are you guys ready?” he asked. 

Killua stood behind Gon, who lowered his arms from where he had been stretching them behind his head. “Yeah, I’ve just been meditating,” Killua said. “I should be good for the fight.”

A sharp, unavoidable  _feeling_ shot up Gon’s spine. He felt it before—he felt it the day he crushed Machi’s wrist—but this time, he was aware of it and what it could do. He stomped on the sensation like a boot stamping out the embers of an impending fire. He wouldn’t let his protective impulses hinder him now, not when this fight meant so much to Killua and Godspeed. 

Though, he had thought the sensation came from Killua going in to fight, but in the next moment, the feeling swept back and a growl ripped through his chest like a terrible, godawful cough. He choked on it, clamping a hand over his mouth as if  _that_ would stop it.

“Gon!” Killua exclaimed, just as startled as Gon by the outbreak. 

_Shit,_ Gon cursed, only for his eyes to widen at the snarl that broke through Knuckle.

He never once heard or felt such a thing in his eighteen years of existence. Gon yelped, his own growl infantile and dwindling into a whine when compared to Knuckle’s ferocity. Knuckle turned his back on them, throwing his hands out. 

“It’s Hisoka,” Knuckle hissed at them. 

Gon’s hackles rose, shaking with anger.  _That_ was what he sensed. Knowing that his protective instincts weren’t entirely at fault, Gon held his breath of relief. 

Kurapika was on their feet. Gon put himself in front of Killua, more out of habit now than anything. The force of his instincts, though, were enough to kick the remaining air from his lungs as he saw a shadow stretch across the corridor intersection separating the northern stage from the south. 

Gon seethes that the sight of Hisoka stepping into the intersection. That arrogant, creepy bastard had his eyes on them since the moment he emerged, knowing full well that it was Killua’s fight that night. 

_How the hell did he get down here? Only fighters have access_ , Gon wondered to himself.

Hisoka put a hand on his slim waist. He was wearing an all-black ensemble—fitted skinny jeans and a low-cut black tank top. Over it all was an oversized, puffy pink jacket. The elastic hems hugged his wrists as he brought a hand up to his slicked-back hair and said in that breathy drawl:

“Ready for round two,  _Killua?_ ” 

Gon felt the urge to kick something—specifically, the urge to kick Hisoka in the nuts. He would have, too, had he not heard the hitch in Killua’s voice behind him saying, “You’re fighting?”

Gon startled, straightening a little at the suggestion. Hisoka’s smile widened, shifting his weight so his hip cocked.  _Hisoka pilots?_ Gon thought. 

“You inspired me to pick it up again,” Hisoka sighed, glancing away down the opposite hall, towards the southern entrance. Gon had wondered who would be taking the south stage. Killua’s record was still clean, and the evidence of his winning streak over a decade ago was only present in the recordings and in the minds of Godspeed fans. 

_That means Hisoka’s fought within the past year_ , Gon thought,  _and that he’s good at it, too_ .

Hisoka took a step away from them, turning as his heels clicked across the tiles. He offered a meager wave and said, “I might be a little rusty. Don’t go easy on me, though, or else I’ll be disappointed.”

“As if! He’s gonna kick your ass if I have any say in it!” Knuckle shouted after him, flipping him off. 

“Thanks for the support, Knuckle,” Killua sighed. 

Knuckle turned back around, arms crossed, deadly serious. “That’s what I’m here for,” he said. 

Gon craned over to watch Hisoka settle at the south platform gate. Hisoka turned around, hands on his hips, eyes trained on them from across the way. A shudder scraped up Gon’s spine as he saw the hint of black coloring Hisoka’s scleras, turning the shadows around his eyes darker, and accentuating his pale white skin.

An attendant came to put them on stage. As Killua stepped up onto the platform, Gon joined him. They stood side-by-side, Gon’s eyes stuck on Hisoka, who was now too far to discern behind the attendant. 

Knuckle gave them a thumbs up and Kurapika said, “Look for us on the second floor.”

“Okay. Keep an eye on Hisoka for me,” Killua said. Kurapika agreed, and then, they were being raised up. 

The stage surface opened, and smoke drifted in, seeping around the ledge. The noise spiked in volume, rattling in his skull as the mechanisms in the lift whirred. Flashing blue lights passed over them, momentarily blinding Gon. His pupils turned to slits, and when he blinked, the blinding light was now turned onto the crowd and the column that stretched up into the atrium and arched high over head. Blue panels circled the levels of the screaming audience, their figures barely visible outside of the fighting ring. 

Gon turned to look at Killua, whose white hair glowed vibrantly in the light, the touch of blues and purples enhanced in the stage lights. Killua’s expression was set, his eyes focused on the stage across from them as he stepped forward off of the platform. 

He removed his rucksack then as the announcer presented them. As Killua passed Gon his tablet gear, the announcer shouted, “ _Godspeed is back with his previous technician! Still sporting Arena-provided default gear, as well!_ ”

Gon went to the tech’s platform, sheltered by the plexiglass. The smoke clouded his senses and made it impossible for him to discern every face in the crowd—except Killua. Killua’s figure became silhouetted by the blue panels that became abruptly drenched in red. 

Red flooded the arena. It swept across every screen and every light fixture. Gon’s gaze followed Killua’s to the center of the fighting ring where the hologram thrust her arms up, gesturing to the crowd as she circled around.

“ _Ladies and gentlemen! I present to you another returning face. We last saw him on a streak last spring, and he has severed every connection he’s come across! Prepare yourselves for—THE MAGICIAN—!_ ”

Fog circled around the southern stage. Gon tensed as Hisoka’s silhouette emerged from the floor until at last his hair and jacket came into view, flushed over in bright, glowing magenta. He stood with poise, one foot in front of the other, a hand on his hip, and his red irises glowing in the black light. 

Gon couldn’t stop the growl that hissed through his clenched teeth. His gums ached, fangs growing in and piercing his bottom lip. He tasted iron on his tongue, but his body demanded  _more_ . It demanded Hisoka’s  _blood_ .

“ _Fighters! Take your positions, and let’s get ready to BEAST OUT!_ ” the announcer screamed, her image dissolving into static that vanished in a whirlwind of smoke as Killua and Hisoka readied their summoning circles. 

And then, they were sitting in preparation for meditation. Killua placed his headset over his ears and pushed the link over his implant. Blue-white light flooded the sensors, and Gon’s tablet blinked to life in his hands.

The screen was sheer glass connected to two metal bands. A set of buttons lined one side and on the other rested a touch-pad that Gon dragged his thumb down as it began to glow with blue-white light. Killua’s magic was infused in it now, and soon, Godspeed came online. 

Gon’s hands trembled. The pads of his fingers picked up on the fizzle of electricity and the immense, overwhelming sensation of Killua and Godspeed, together, mixing together between his hands. He had never felt this before, and his adrenaline and territorial nature had overrode all of this the first time he monitored as a werewolf.

It was as close as Gon had come to feeling magic since becoming a werewolf, but it was  _oh-so sweet_ .

His saliva suddenly tasted like honey in his watering mouth. He touched a hand to the corner of his lips, his finger grazing the fang that now protruded from his gums. A growl edged its way up his throat, vibrating in his chest. Hisoka had tasted this. Hisoka had felt this way when Killua and Godspeed connected to the tablet. 

Gon licked his bared teeth, glowering at Hisoka from across the fighting ring. However, as he did, the announcer hinted to a crucial detail that Gon had completely missed.

“ _What’s this?! The Magician is synching without a technician! Could it be our magician is going into this fight magic-less? Perhaps Godspeed will stand a chance against this serial demon-killer! This could be The Magician’s first loss in Heaven’s Arena that we’ve witnessed!_ ”

And then, black smoke clouded Killua’s form. 

A shock vibrated up Gon’s arms, his hands shaking from the fearsome power generating static in his tablet. Last time, and the time before against the werewolf sorcerer—Gon had never sensed such rage through the tablet. As black claws, weeping with smoke, grabbed hold of the stage, a surge coursed through Gon and sent his hair on end. 

_It feels like—_

_—like murder_ .

_Perhaps Killua_ does _want to kill Hisoka as much as I do_ , Gon wondered, staring as the shadows shed from Godspeed’s scales as they rustled in the wave of every muscle flexing against the smoky air. 

Godspeed’s jagged tail hooked to the right, lingering near the technician’s stand. Gon stilled as it came within touching-distance of him, hovering close until Godspeed swiped it across the stage and opened its maw into a murderous hiss in Hisoka’s direction.

Gon turned to watch as Hisoka bowed his head, a smile on his lips as he ducked into the trance that would pull his demon from the depths. Gon watched as a stripe of washed-out red swiped up through his headset from the linking dock. 

Black oozed from the southern stage. It bubbled up, engulfing Hisoka in mere seconds. The crowd roared, turning into a dull hum in Gon’s overworked eardrums. He stared, his fascination morphing into horror as Hisoka’s demon made itself known to the arena.

The Magician rose up from the smoke, shedding its cover piece-by-piece. Two massive, thick tusks punctuated either side of its maw, its slitted, yellow eyes wide with multiple, clear eyelids that lifted one-by-one to reveal rectangular pupils. A thicket of what appeared to be hair protruded from its head, running down its raised haunches. Its shoulders sloped into what looked like oversized, hulking, human legs—but instead of feet, there were two-pronged hooves. 

Gon bristled as The Magician’s tail uncurled from its back, thumping so hard on the stage, the concrete cracked. Two smaller arms protruded behind the hooded limbs, and behind that, two dog-like legs mounted it on two feet. 

_Grotesque_ , Gon thought as Godspeed lunged from the stand and slammed into the fighting ring. 

“ _Let’s make this quick_ ,” Killua’s voice crackled into his headset. 

Gon startled at the sound, his heart already racing. He hummed his consent, bracing his fingers over the pad. “I’m not holding back,” he said.

He heard a distinct huff—Killua’s laughter, uneven and hardly recognizable through the mental transmission. “ _Better not_ ,” he said. 

The instant The Magician touched down on the tiles, the fight began. 

Godspeed whipped through the fighting ring, lunging to the second story and grasping the concrete ledge by one hooked claw. It swung, spinning, and sliced its tail in a diagonal cut at The Magician. 

The Magician leant away, ducking, swinging in a smooth parry against Godspeed’s relentless strikes. When its tail never struck, Godspeed anchored it in the tiles and lunged up, back, spiked legs diving for The Magician’s knees. 

Only then did The Magician make its move. 

It swung its human-like limbs like it was holding a baseball bat. The weight of them, the size of the hooves, and the sluggish speed made it almost seem like it would never hit Godspeed at all—until it did. It intercepted Godspeed’s attack and sent Godspeed onto its back. 

Godspeed summersaulted back, claws skidding across the tiles. The Magician threw its two massive hooves up and slammed them down. Godspeed swept to the side, narrowly dodging the attack. On the turn, Godspeed curved its tail and struck at The Magician’s back. 

The instant he made contact, The Magician exploded in a sickening, gruesome, sucking-sound. Gon had been poised over the magic bar, prepared to use some of Godspeed’s juice, but when the pieces of The Magician settled, he could see Godspeed through the cloud of seemingly pixelated particles.

Godspeed whipped around, trying to follow the motion of the minuscule blocks swarming the air across the arena. The Magician’s cubes amalgamated into a dense object once more, behind Godspeed.

“Behind you!” Gon shrieked, screaming when The Magician landed a solid blow with its tail against Godspeed’s side. 

Godspeed slammed into the graffitied wall of the arena. Gon’s tablet blinked red, and he said, “You broke two ribs—I’ll heal you up—”

“ _Don’t—_ ” Killua’s voice started, only to break out when The Magician slammed its thick leg onto Godspeed’s ribcage. 

Gon flipped the electricity switch.

Godspeed sunk its claws into The Magician’s leg, holding the beast, and all of the pressure on its ribcage, still. Light crackled through The Magician’s flesh and sent the demon spasming, tipping to the side. Godspeed climbed on top, slamming its elbow into The Magician’s leg with every intent of snapping it in two. 

Whatever the leg was made of, though, was not to be broken. 

Godspeed struck its spiked tail towards The Magician’s stomach. Its two additional arms caught it, though, still seizing with the electric current Gon turned up to high. Gon shivered as The Magician turned its head up through the electric pulses that shook its body, and it met Godspeed’s gaze before unhinging its jaw. 

Its maw gaped open before crunching onto Godspeed’s muzzle. Killua’s heartbeat spiked on the tablet, but before Gon could flip the next magic switch, Godspeed yanked itself out of The Magician’s hold, taking The Magician’s tongue with it. 

Blood spewed from The Magician’s mouth, lathering in smears across the tiles. Godspeed picked the tongue out from its teeth like it was a bad piece of food and, raising it overhead, flicked it into the stands with two clawed fingers.

Godspeed unfurled its centipede-like arms that hooked around its abdomen. It kept three over its broken ribs, scaled lips pulled back in a sneer as The Magician recovered from the attack. Blood dripped from The Magician’s tusks as Godspeed went in for its next attack. 

Gon shifted gears. He turned off the electricity and tapped teleportation as he said, “Putting you overhead.”

“ _Bet_ ,” Killua said, and Gon would have laughed if Godspeed didn’t have two—now three—broken ribs. 

The instant Godspeed shot towards The Magician, it hit a shimmering wall and dissolved into an iridescent, two-dimensional shimmer.

“ _There it is! Godspeed’s Speed of Lightning! Where will it appear—there! On the third floor! Godspeed strikes from above, crushing them both into the ground! A hit of that force will certainly leave a mark—WHAT’S THIS? THE MAGICIAN WITHSTOOD THE HIT! It’s grabbed Godspeed by the throat!_ ”

Gon flicked the electricity on high once more, but Godspeed’s magic was dwindling fast. He wouldn’t be able to use magic in another thirty seconds if Gon kept it up. 

The Magician hesitated, shuddering at the jolt that would have taken down any normal beast. The Magician raised one of its smaller talons, still gripping Godspeed by the throat. It punched its clawed fist into the scales, and a choked, shrill scream erupted from Godspeed. The tablet in Gon’s hands flashed red, and, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Killua’s body jolt. 

The Magician ripped its talons out. Something thick and  _red_ seeped out of Godspeed’s throat then, and it wasn’t until Godspeed dropped to the ground that Gon realized that it was Godspeed’s  _tongue_ .

The tablet in Gon’s hands blinked out. The light in Killua’s headband vanished in an instant. 

“Killua!” Gon cried, tossing the tablet aside. He lunged up as Killua shot forward with a gasp, clutching at his throat. 

Killua fell on all fours, panting, as Gon crouched beside him. Killua kept his head down, but Gon could see the stage lights glistening on Killua’s tear-stained cheeks as the crowd roared in approval of The Magician.

The Magician turned towards the northern stage, maw dripping with blood. 

Gon stared its slitted yellow pupils down, a growl simmering in his chest as The Magician bent forward into a bow, one leg curled against its abdomen. It bowed over Godspeed’s dead body before dissolving into smoke, leaving the corpse behind for the Heaven’s Arena staff to deal with. 

Godspeed’s open, compound eyes smeared over in a milky white and lolled in Gon’s direction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. Can SOMEONE explain me a thing... that has to do with the fandom. WHY in the living FUCK do fanfic writers in the HxH fandom have Gon saying Killua's name in the place of "you"? Like, no one else is fuckin' around it's just the two of them and Gon has the audACITY to refer to Killua like his dialogue is in third person?? Is there a second Killua in the room that I don't know about???? Like, _"I think Killua's amazing." Killua blushes._ Yeah, bish, I'd be blushin too that's embarrassing as hell. It completely rips me from the story and spits me on the ground you know what I'm sayin' and I'd be fine if, yeah, whatever, it's just one fic but nOO IT'S A SOLID 80% OF THE FICS OUT THERE. 
> 
> WHO DECIDED THIS CONVENTION? I ABOLISH IT !! At first I was like, "Maybe it's a translation error, maybe english isn't their first language?" And I was fine. I was fine. And then it happened AGAIN to ten different authors across ten different fics and I put my head in my hands thinking, "This can't be a coincidence."
> 
> So PLEASE ENLIGHTEN ME so I might APPRECIATE it instead of wanting to throw up whenever I read it because I'm BOUND TO READ IT AGAIN !! GIVEN THE STATE OF AFFAIRS (the Killugon fic collection).


	16. 16 x training

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The author (Sarah) just craved a laundromat aesthetic so ignore the poor excuses she made for it.

**D** uring the fight, Killua had sweat through his shirt. Their group was melancholy late that night after the fight, after the crowds had thinned out, after they were certain that Hisoka was gone from the Arena. 

They gathered at the foyer where Kurapika said, dismally, “I’m sorry about Godspeed.”

Killua bowed his head and scuffed his boot against the dusty concrete. He kicked a nearby solo cup as he said, “Yeah, me too.”

“What happens now? How’re you gonna get the cash for the link enhancer?” they asked. 

“Still thinking about it,” he confessed. “I’ll think of something tonight. I gotta stop by the laundromat anyway. It’ll give me some time to come up with something.”

“Let us walk you there,” Knuckle offered, and Killua was inclined to take the offer.

But it felt like someone had tied his esophagus into a knot again. He couldn’t swallow it down, and he could barely breathe. 

Godspeed was dead because of him, after he had promised not to pit it again.

Killua put a hand over his eyes and cleared his throat. “Yeah, um—yeah, that sounds good,” he agreed. 

They left Heaven’s Arena then, hoods up, umbrellas closed. The street lights caught on the sheen of fresh rain on the cobbled streets, and their footsteps left prints in the muggy, residual water on the concrete sidewalk. Killua took a deep, shaky breath of the evening air. It managed to clear his head of the fog from inside the Arena. He hadn’t realized he was suffocating in there until he was out on Heaven’s streets. 

Gon walked alongside him, close and clingy like that first day Killua walked him into the Paladiknight restaurant. Killua didn’t blame him, and he was grateful for the security. He wasn’t sure what he’d do if he saw Hisoka in person after that fight. 

Knuckle looked up directions to the nearest laundromat, and it took them slightly closer to The Big Bang, and just a little farther than Heaven’s Arena. The twenty-four hour sign was stuck to the window in bright, bold letters, and the fluorescent lights were on and glowing in the streets. In the dark of midnight, it felt like a different dimension tucked away on that gloomy street. 

They stopped outside of the awning where leftover rain dribbled off of the canvas and onto the brick walkway next to their feet. 

“We’ll be fine from here,” Gon told them. “Thanks for walking us.”

“You don’t want to come to The Big Bang with us?” Knuckle asked, gesturing in the direction of the tavern. It was just down the block, and they could hear the echo of chatter from that intersection. 

Gon shook his head. “I’ll stay with Killua.”

Knuckle and Kurapika left them then. Kurapika gave Killua a squeeze on the shoulder and said, “Call me if you need me. I’ll be up all night anyway.”

“Yeah, sounds good,” Killua said, forcing a weak smile as he watched Knuckle and Kurapika leave for The Big Bang. After a moment of standing there in the drizzling rain, Killua at last turned to the laundromat entrance and stepped inside.

The bell chimed above him as he held the door open for Gon. The laundromat was bright white aside from the grime and dust and the off-white colored tiles. Truthfully, everything was a little off-white aside from the washing machines where Killua tossed his rucksack on top of a dryer. Beside him, Gon heaved himself up onto the neighboring washing machine. 

The room was deadly quiet. No one was there except for the two of them, enveloped in this silent bubble separate from the gloominess outside. The bright lights of the laundromat distracted his mind from the guilt featuring in the far corners of his brain. 

He gestured for Gon to move his legs so that he could load the machine. Gon tugged his legs up and crossed them as Killua crouched down and opened the machine door. 

“You smell sad,” Gon said.

Killua hummed. “What does sadness smell like?”

“I don’t know how to describe it if you’ve never smelled it before,” Gon said.

“Then how do you know what it smells like?”

“I can just tell,” he said. 

Killua leant back on his heels and glanced up at Gon, who took to studying the front window. Killua went back to stuffing the clothing contents of his rucksack into the washing machine, frowning intently at the task. 

He wasn’t sure what sort of life Godspeed lived in the other dimension, but he hoped it was better than the life Killua pulled it into at Heaven’s Arena. He thought of this as he tugged his tank top over his head and shook it out before tossing it into the washer. Just as he was about to shut the washer door, Gon stuck his foot out so the door bounced off of his ankle. 

“Gon—” Killua started, annoyed. 

“P-Put a shirt on! There’s windows—we’re in public!” Gon floundered. 

Killua stared up at his friend, thinking,  _Since when did that stop you?_ When they were kids, they had run around shirtless a countless number of times on laundry days. That train of thought, though, stumbled short when he realized that Gon was staring at him with wide eyes and pink cheeks. 

Killua stood up as he fetched his wallet from the back pocket of his jeans. He watched the way Gon swallowed, shoulders tensing up. A grin spread across Killua’s lips as he said, “Are you  _blushing_ , Gon Freecs?”

That just made Gon blush  _harder_ . Killua snickered deviously in his head, thinking,  _Oh, this is priceless_ . His habit of teasing Gon managed to surpass the crisis that swept in immediately after.

Killua’s smile faltered, and he had the good sense to be embarrassed because  _why the hell was Gon acting like that?_ He wanted to blame it on the wolf pack mentality, but walking around half-naked didn’t exactly seem  _beneath werewolves_ . If anything, showing off their brawn and strength warranted shirtlessness once in a while—that was just how many testosterone-riddled werewolves were. 

Killua glanced away as he took out his card and scoffed. “Whatever. I’ll have it back on after the cycle’s done.”

He flicked the card idly with his free hand as he turned back to Gon. Gon was sitting between him and the card reader. Gon’s eyes jumped up to meet Killua’s gaze, but he didn’t move. Killua found himself wondering what the hell was going on inside Gon’s head given the fact that he had just caught his best friend staring at his bare torso like he’d never seen a goddamn set of abs before in his life—Killua  _knew_ for a fact that Gon had his own set, anyway.

And then, Killua was stepping closer for the card reader.

Gon’s mind was short circuiting.

Gon didn’t understand the sudden flurry in his chest when Killua caught him staring. He hadn’t seen Killua shirtless in some time, but somehow, he didn’t remember ever focusing  _that intently_ on Killua’s toned muscles. He had the physique of a lethal weapon, chiseled down to taunt muscles and a slim waist. 

And when Killua stepped towards him, pale blue eyes steady with Gon’s, Gon felt a jolt in his chest. His heart hammered against his chest—he could hear it roaring in his red-hot ears when he smelled the salt on Killua’s skin getting closer. The flutter in his chest reminded him of the primal urgency he felt that night in Kurapika’s apartment when he could do nothing but pace to walk it off. The evidence of it had glowed bright white with Killua’s magic when he used the tracking powder on Gon. 

He wondered what Killua would sense now, if he used that magic on him now. Gon could only imagine, because he wasn’t quite sure what he was going to do if Killua got any closer to him.

He tensed his raw, sore hands on the edge of the washing machine.  _I should move, I should leave, I should go_ , he chanted to himself, but every muscle in his body was stiff as if getting ready to spring. 

Killua’s eyes fell to the side as he leant against the washing machine and pressed a finger to the cold cycle button. He stuck his card into the reader, and his neck was  _so fucking close_ . 

Gon caught a whiff of it. It wasn’t anything  _physical_ , nothing he could  _name_ , exactly, but it was certainly  _Killua_ . It was bright and sweet and similar but entirely separate from the honey he tasted in his mouth during the fight. He breathed it in before he could stop himself, and he leant towards it, his nose involuntarily touching Killua’s throat. 

He hesitated. He was shaking from head to toe, his breath caught in his throat. His gums felt like they were about to rupture, and the pain from it would have given him a splitting headache if his adrenaline wasn’t pumping viciously through his veins. 

Killua stilled, his hand against the washing machine, unmoving until Gon clutched a shaky hand to Killua’s waist. He meant to hold his shirt, but when his sore fingers touched only skin, his senses went into overdrive. 

He wanted to feel Killua’s warm skin—he wanted  _more_ of it, all of it. Suddenly, it was the next rational step.

But then his human brain caught up with the wolf in him that flew off on its own track. 

_He’s my friend—what am I doing?!_

Gon let go with a shriek. He jumped so far he slipped on the edge of the washing machine, his foot kicking the door open and slamming it into Killua’s knee. Killua crumbled with a curse, clutching at the bruise likely forming on his leg. 

Before Gon could get too far, Killua snagged him by the wrist, dragging him to a halt. Gon yelped an apology—at least, it  _might_ have been an apology. His mind was scattering into all different directions only to halt and collide at the touch of Killua’s lips on his. 

Gon had never kissed anyone before that day—not really, anyway. 

When his mind sorted itself, all of its focus went to the soft, salty touch of Killua’s mouth against his and the tight hold Killua had on his wrist. Gon slackened the tension in his body, a shudder going through him that threatened to turn him into a puddle on the laundromat floor. 

Killua closed his mouth and pulled away, slowly, and Gon leant in as if to chase after that feeling. For those two seconds, Gon’s brain had turned to mush. Nothing existed beyond what transpired in that square on the tile floor. The pressure from someone else’s skin, someone else’s  _mouth_ , on his lips began to take hold, slowly but surely becoming a reality when he felt Killua’s breath on his lips.

Killua leant away then, and Gon’s eyes opened. He hadn’t realized he closed them. 

“How did you know?” Gon asked, voice hoarse. He didn’t know why or what he was asking until it flew out of his mouth. 

Killua dropped his arm and took a farther step back. He kicked the washer door shut and the cycle immediately started with a whirr. 

“Know what?” he asked. Gon made sure to watch the way Killua ran his thumb along his bottom lip. 

Gon sucked in a deep breath. “That that was what I wanted,” he said. 

He hadn’t known at all, but given the way his body was singing, that kiss was everything he wanted. He was satisfied, for the moment, but that needy desperation that drove him to scent Killua was resurfacing again and turning the harmony into a dull buzz that shivered across his skin.

“Lucky guess,” Killua said with a breathy, shaky laugh. He pocketed his hands and rolled his eyes. He was blushing. “Don’t make it weird, Gon.”

Gon shivered. He bit his lip so his sharpened canines pricked skin, but it wasn’t enough to distract him from repeating Killua’s voice in his head, saying his name.  _I’m about to make it weird, aren’t I?_ Gon thought, just before making it weird. 

“Say my name again.”

Killua blinked at him and, after a moment, that cocky grin returned to his face. He leant forward and said, teasingly, “ _Gon_ .” He dragged out Gon’s name like it had three extra syllables, and Gon’s entire being burst into blissful flames. 

“I’ve never kissed anyone before,” he said, as if he didn’t already make it weird by admitting to having a name kink. Internally, he was slapping his head over and over again. He meant to say it in the same realm as everything else, with context— _I’ve never kissed anyone, so how would you know? How did you know I wanted you to kiss me?_

Killua stared at him, his grin subsiding. He turned his eyes to the ground, and Gon heard him swallow as he reached a hand up to rub the back of his neck. The same scent from before— _sadness_ , was what Gon had called it—reached him, and it wasn’t until then that Gon realized that it was covering up something important. It covered up a flavor he had never encountered before. He could still smell a hint of it on himself, but he had thought it was just  _him_ —not Killua as well.

“I should’ve asked. I didn’t—I didn’t mean to ruin your first kiss,” Killua said.

_Ruin?_

Gon withered, and if he had ears, they would have flattened down in distress. “Was it really that terrible?” he said.

Killua met his eyes again with a fervent shake of his head. “No, I—I mean, it was fine, but that was your first kiss and I—” ‘ _ruined it’_ was left unsaid. Gon felt it, though, in the spike in Killua’s scent that shifted closer towards something bitter and cold. The air became suffocating with it, and Gon knew what it was because he had smelled it on himself before— _regret_ . 

Gon regretted eating his first deer. He wished he would have just left his stomach to growl in distress. Now, though, it was only guilt. He felt guilty for perpetuating an industry that ran on consumer demand. There would always been a demand for meat because werewolves like him needed it. 

_That_ warranted regret. 

Not this.

Gon stepped forward, heart strung tight in his throat as he reached for Killua. Killua stilled, his lips parting to say something. Gon wasn’t sure what, because he had every intent of getting rid of the stale regret lingering in the air. 

The sound of the washing machine dulled into nothing when Gon put his sore hands to Killua’s face. The heat from the blisters were only amplified by the blood racing beneath Killua’s skin. His fingers shook from excitement, the thrill of it causing his own heart to beat in his throat, his pulse drowning out the hum of electricity through the ceiling, the water pumping through pipes, a pair of footsteps passing the laundromat out in the misty rain.

Gon’s lips hovered over Killua’s. Their breaths touched, the exhale expelling whatever tension remained between them. In those few seconds, Gon stared intently between Killua’s eyes. He had no intention of making Killua regret this, so he would take his time, ensuring that Killua wanted this as much as his body craved it.

But Gon wasn’t good at observations. He couldn’t read Killua the same way Killua read him, so he asked, “Do you want me to kiss you?”

Killua licked his lips. Their proximity, though, led his tongue to graze Gon’s open lips. A shiver rolled up Gon’s spine, the sharp tang in the air only magnified by Killua breathing, “ _Yes_ ,” against his mouth. 

It was sloppier than the first kiss. It was more aggressive than the first. Gon went in with bruising force, sucking in a deep breath of  _Killua_ as his mind spiraled around the sensation of Killua’s face between his hands. The pressure slackened, and with it, Killua pushed forward, head angled, shoving Gon back against the washing machine. 

Killua’s hands were on his hips. Gon’s entire body was on fire. He didn’t think he could feel so much excitement at once. This was nothing compared to skydiving, to fighting, to dangerous, daring adventures. It was entirely new, and entirely welcome. 

Gon lapped his tongue across Killua’s mouth before close in for more. His fingers threaded through Killua’s hair, his breath panting out as Killua ducked down and hooked his hands under Gon’s thighs. Instinctively, Gon hooked his legs around Killua’s waist and squeezed tight, latching his ankles together against Killua’s exposed lower back. 

And then, he felt Killua’s tongue on his lips again. 

It felt odd, weird, but not entirely disagreeable. The washing machine underneath him rumbled and vibrated, sending chills up his spine as he steadied himself with a hot hand on the cool metal surface. He gasped, eyes blinking open as Killua leant away and stared at him. 

Gon still had his hand on Killua’s cheek. He moved it down to Killua’s neck, following the curve of Killua’s trachea with his thumb as Killua swallowed hard, chest lifting with a sharp inhale.  _This_ was where the scent came from—the soft, pale flesh against Killua’s rapid pulse. 

Before Gon could decide on what the jolt through his veins meant, Killua leant in again and crushed his mouth to Gon’s ready lips. His tongue dragged between Gon’s lips, against Gon’s teeth, and it turned him to putty once more. 

They would have kept at it, too, if the bell above the door hadn’t chimed and reminded them that they were _in public_ . 

Gon’s grip on Killua’s hair tightened as he turned towards the sound with a snarl. He was overcome with a shock of rage that barely subsided when he saw the intruder jump at the sound and realized she was just an elderly woman. Gon stifled the growl as best he could, tensing with the effort, and managed to say in as genuine of a voice as he could, “Sorry! Sorry, don’t mind us.”

The woman eyed them suspiciously before hobbling to the opposite side of the laundromat, a basket of clothes on her hip. 

Gon turned away, mortified. Killua threw his head back and started laughing. Gon’s cheeked colored red as he let go of Killua’s waist so that Killua could bend over laughing, tears gathering at the corners of his eyes. 

“Stop laughing!”

Killua sobered a little, giggling against the back of his hand as he straightened up and shook his head. “Your face was priceless, I’ll give you that,” he said, smiling wide. 

Killua hopped up onto the dryer beside Gon’s washing machine. Gon simmered, the tension leaving his shoulders, and he let his mind drift away against the rumble of the machine underneath him. He curled his legs up and pressed his cheek to his knees, watching Killua’s profile.

Killua settled back with his hands behind him. A shuddering breath left him before he turned to look at Gon. They stared at one another, wide, curious eyes communicating a silent, powerful message. Gon furrowed his brow as Killua pursed his lips, but the corner of his mouth turned up into a muted smile. 

Killua turned away, huffing a little. He shook his head and pulled his phone from his pocket. A washing machine across the laundromat started up as Gon listened to Killua’s fingers tap away at his phone screen before Killua set his phone down and waited.

Gon’s phone buzzed in his pocket. 

He pulled it up to see. His eyes adjusted to the light of an unknown number on his screen, but it was certainly Killua. At one point, Gon had given up texting Killua. Nothing went through after a while, and then the number belonged to someone else. He had gotten a new phone and left Gon to guess what possibly could have happened to him. 

_He kept my number, though_ , Gon told himself.

  

> **KILLUA:** Tell me no if you don’t want this
> 
> **GON:** What do you mean?
> 
> **KILLUA:** Idiot I’m talking about kissing and shit  
>  Do you want it or not?
> 
> **GON:** Yes I want it  
>  I would have punched you by now if I didn’t
> 
> **KILLUA:** Okay  
>  I just don’t want things to change
> 
> **GON:** Does that mean you want me to say no?
> 
> **KILLUA:** It just means I want us to stay friends or whatever  
>  I don’t want to ruin that
> 
> **GON:** You couldn’t ruin that or any of this Killua
> 
> **KILLUA:** You’re such a sap  
>  I can’t believe I never figured that out before you’ve always been a sap
> 
> **GON:** Is it weird?
> 
> **KILLUA:** You being a sap? Yeah
> 
> **GON:** No, I mean that we just kissed. Is it supposed to be weird?
> 
> **KILLUA:** Does it feel weird to you?
> 
> **GON:** Yeah 
> 
> **KILLUA:** Oh  
>  If it’s weird for you then we shouldn’t do it again
> 
> **GON:** NO  
>  I mean, it’s weird in a GOOD WAY. Like I-want-to-do-it-again sort of way  
>  I don’t know how to explain it, but you’re right. I still want to be friends
> 
> **KILLUA:** Yeah
> 
> **GON:** How do we do this?
> 
> **KILLUA:** If you want to kiss, kiss me. It’s pretty simple or do I have to spell it out for you
> 
> **GON:** But I want to kiss you now and every second I’m not kissing you  
>  And I know that’s probably my wolf side talking, but you make me feel funny like I’m not comfortable if you aren’t around and I feel better when you’re there. It’s like Knuckle, but I still feel comfortable when he isn’t round.  
>  It’s like chocolate. I know I shouldn’t eat it but I do anyway and it makes me feel better
> 
> **KILLUA:** You’re a dog now so you can’t eat chocolate
> 
> **GON:** DON’T REMIND ME

 

Killua turned his head away and laughed. He put a hand in his hair as he read Gon’s message again before turning to raise his eyebrows at Gon. Gon was pouting at him. Gon went back to his phone and Killua waited, nibbling on his lip, for Gon’s message to come through. 

When it did, his heart stilled in his chest. When it picked up again, though, it throbbed so heavily in his chest he feared it might rupture his lungs. “ _You’re chocolate because I only ever shared my chocolate with you. I don’t want to share you with anyone else_ .”

_Does Gon realize what he’s saying?_ Killua wondered, staring in complete bafflement at the message. He could feel Gon’s eyes on him, and he wondered, again, if Gon could smell something on him like he did with his mourning over Godspeed. 

Killua rubbed his thumb across his brow and considered how to respond. He brought a foot up onto the dryer, heart racing faster. He didn’t want their friendship to change, and he knew then that this was Gon’s wolf talking. Gon had never displayed this possessiveness before, and something about it made Killua falter. 

_Do I accept that this is Gon talking, or his wolf instincts?_

It was the sort of response that would make Gon dangerous around Knuckle, he realized. It was an alpha response, surely, which meant that if Killua endorsed it, he’d make Knuckle and Uvogin a target. Those two had their shit together—Gon certainly did not. Those two could handle their possessive outbursts, but Gon…

Killua fabricated his response carefully in his head. 

“ _I’m not yours, Gon. I’m still your friend and a member of your pack, but I’m not a possession_ .”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Homestuck dead clown grandma voice* OOHOOHOOOOOO
> 
> Also I sliced opened my index finger because I'm an idiot so I gotta write slower or REAP THE CONSEQUENCES (blood & typos).


	17. 17 x training

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This wouldn't be an anime if there wasn't a beach episode.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you're wondering "How's writing going?" I started posting on the day I started writing. That was two weeks ago. We're at 65k (well, 71k in my doc).

That night Gon stuck to the edge of the mattress where he could see Killua on the couch. Killua had the blanket tugged up over his shoulders, his back to Gon, his hair reflecting the moonlight from the windowpane. He didn’t know how to ask Killua to sleep in the bed with him, and after Killua had hunkered down so quickly on the couch, he figured asking was out of the question. 

The prick in his chest from Killua’s response had offset something inside of him that demanded that they be attached at the hip, like old times. It hurt— _boy_ , did it hurt—but he felt guilty for feeling so broken about it because Killua was  _right_ . He was  _right_ . Gon didn’t realize it until Killua said it, but he  _had_ been seeing Killua through a filtered lens.

_His_ Killua. 

Killua was never his, and should never  _be_ his because Killua was  _his own person_ . 

Gon wanted to slap himself for being so overprotective of his best friend. When did he start to think this way? It turned to acid in his chest and made him sick to his stomach thinking about how much it infuriated him that Killua had left him in Yorknew.

But Killua deserved to be on his own if he wanted it that way. He shouldn’t feel so disheartened, so abandoned, like Killua had done it on purpose just to spite him and make him chase his tail around in a panic.

Gon turned onto his back and stared at the ceiling a while before turning onto his other side. He closed his eyes and made his decision loud and clear in his head. 

They would go about this  _Killua’s_ way, because Gon couldn’t trust himself to not take advantage of their mutual agreement. 

 

* * *

 

Gon looked desperate, which was odd, because Killua had never seen him look desperate before. 

_Well, this is a weird development I never thought would happen_ , Killua mused to himself as he stood with Gon under a vendor awning. Unlike the other days, it was clear out, and with the sunlight came the scorching heat. The rain had washed away all of the spring chill and left Killua sweltering hot in his jeans and combat boots. He had his sweater bundled up in his rucksack along with all his other freshly cleaned clothes. His umbrella was strapped to the side of his rucksack and, after standing under the vendor’s tent for so long and trying on one too many hats, he was now wearing a black sunhat with a floppy rim to keep the sun from scalding his bare shoulders. 

Gon, on the other hand, seemed to revel in the warmth. If… he wasn’t staring at Killua so intently from his post just outside the tent’s shade. 

Killua squinted at him. Gon blinked back, wide eyes flitting between Killua’s. Killua raised an eyebrow when Gon licked his bottom lip, and if that wasn’t a hint, Killua didn’t know what was. 

They were in public, though, and waiting for Kurapika and Knuckle. Killua was certainly not about to let Gon kiss him if Knuckle was going to be coming by any second now. If Gon had snarled at an elderly woman, who knew what he’d do to Knuckle—a werewolf and fellow alpha.

Killua sighed a little, looking away.  _Why did_ I _have to be the one to find out that Gon’s an alpha?_ he thought, annoyed. At the very least, Knuckle should have warned him.

“Quit looking at me like that,” Killua muttered, knowing that Gon would hear him no matter how quietly he whispered it. He looked down at his feet and, when Gon said nothing, he looked up and found Gon still staring at him. “What’d I just say?”

Gon jumped a little and exclaimed, “Right! Sorry.” He turned on his heels to look at the crowds instead, but as his gaze followed someone passing by them, he wound up turning his head to look at Killua again. 

“ _Gon_ ,” Killua stressed.

Gon slapped a hand over his eyes and whined, “Ah, sorry, I can’t help it.”

“ _Shit_ , Gon, it’s like you’re tryna eye-fuck me in public. What’s the matter with you?” Killua said. “If you can’t think straight  _now_ , Kurapika and Knuckle are gonna see right through you—”

“See through what?” 

Gon squeaked and Killua jumped. He turned to look down the street where Kurapika called out to them. Kurapika waved now that they had their full attention, looking far too pleased to have startled them. Killua’s shock dissolved into annoyance. 

Kurapika had covered up most of their skin aside from their face, which was under the shadow of their sunhat and an umbrella. As Kurapika neared them, they reached over to toss an arm around Killua’s shoulders and tip their hats together. “Sunhat club,” Kurapika said, pointing up at their faces as Killua rolled his eyes. 

He glanced at Gon, who stiffened, jaw ticking.  _That just proves it then_ , Killua thought. He was suddenly overwhelmed with relief from his decision. It may have felt awful at the time he turned Gon down, but now? It was a miracle that Gon wasn’t at Kurapika’s throat over this. 

“We were just talking about breakfast,” Killua said, dragging his eyes away from Gon. “Uvogin’s place and then I have work to do.”

“So you’ve come up with a plan?” Knuckle asked as he folded his arms over his chest. 

“More or less,” Killua said. “Hijacking the basic linking dock from Heaven’s Arena and seeing where I get with that. If all else fails, I’ll simply link with another demon and we fight for more cash to get a better link enhancer.”

“Okay, that sounds like a good plan to me. Better than what I woulda come up with,” Knuckle said with a sigh.

“Why, what was your plan?” 

“He was planning on stealing you a better enhancer,” Kurapika said.

“Was  _not_ ,” Knuckle huffed, leaning forward to hiss the words in Kurapika’s face. Kurapika watched in amusement as Knuckle then gestured to the two of them and said, “I never thought I’d say it, but Killua’s got the makings of a vampire. I mean, look at him! Pale as a ghost, wearing a sunhat—classic vampire signs.”

“Vampires can be black too, you know,” Killua said. 

“Can’t argue with that,” Knuckle said with a shrug. 

Killua smiled at them as Kurapika insisted that Killua would make an excellent vampire. Again, Knuckle said, “Can’t argue with that, either.” Kurapika laughed, and they chatted about it as they started the walk down to The Big Bang. Somewhere along the way, Knuckle’s attention went back to Gon, who trailed behind them with a solemn look on his face. Gon had been so focused, so deep in thought, that he jumped in surprise when Knuckle clasped an arm around his shoulders. 

Knuckle jabbed Gon in the chest and said, “What’s up with you, huh?”

“Oh! Nothing, I’m fine,” Gon said.

Knuckle slapped a hand onto Gon’s head and gave his hair a ruffle. The tension in Gon’s features evaporated, and Killua turned away with a snicker as Gon went back to his usual self as Knuckle said, “You just gotta get something to eat. We’ll be going to the gym later, you and me.”

Gon hummed and said, “Okay!”

At The Big Bang, Uvogin had already put in their orders, and they arrived to full plates at the ready, set around their usual table benches. Uvogin was just setting Gon’s food down when Gon dragged it over to the opposite side of the table, where Kurapika had sat the past day beside Killua. Uvogin chuckled a little as he took his seat at the head of the table and said in an amused tone, “Okay then.”

Killua stepped over the bench and hunkered down beside Gon. Knuckle took his usual seat at the left of Uvogin, and Kurapika sat across from Killua, glancing pointedly at Gon as if to say, “ _You stole my spot, you heathen_ .”

“Where will you go to make the connection?” Kurapika asked Killua, dragging their eyes away from where Gon was already digging into his food. 

“Some place quiet. Probably by the ocean,” Killua confessed. He never visited the coast while at Heaven’s Arena, but he knew that parks and beaches existed around the outskirts of the city. “It might be best for me to go by myself.”

“Oh, good, because there’s no way in hell I’m going to a beach in this weather,” Kurapika scoffed, shaking their head. Killua smiled with a laugh.

“Fuck, the beach sounds good,” Knuckle sighed. “Change of plans, Gon.”

“You literally  _live_ by the beach. You can go whenever you want,” Killua said. 

Knuckle leant back in his seat and slapped his hands on his thighs. “You can  _never_ get enough of the beach. You better fucking believe I’ll be there. We’ll rent some surfboards or something—that’s a workout, innit?”

“You’ll teach me how to surf?” Gon gasped, amazed. 

“Hell yeah,” Knuckle said.

“If y’all are surfing, I’m coming with,” Uvogin said. 

“Then that’s decided, huh? Sounds good to me,” he said. “Know where we can get boards?”

“Yeah, I know a guy,” Uvogin said, rubbing one large hand over his scruff. He frowned off in the distance, a dark atmosphere surrounding him as he murmured, “Yeah… that guy…”

“Who? What guy?” Kurapika said, leaning forward, intrigued. 

Uvogin pursed his lips, eyes squinted into slits. “Just… a guy, is all.”

They finished eating in time to make it out onto the street half past eleven. Kurapika had parked their car in the same structure as Killua—evidently, Gon’s keen nose had led them there the first night at Heaven’s Arena. Uvogin joined them on the walk and whistled low at the sight of Killua’s motorcycle sitting next to Kurapika’s car. 

“Nice ride, kid!” Uvogin said, thrusting his arms out in a grand gesture towards the bike.

Killua swept a leg up and over the seat where he settled back and thanked the sentiment with a two-fingered salute. Uvogin laughed when Killua then chucked his hat at him. Uvogin turning away with a shake of his fluffy hair as he opened the back seat of Kurapika’s car. As he sat, Killua caught a glimpse of Uvogin putting the sunhat on himself. 

Knuckle took the passenger’s side, which left Gon to stand between the motorcycle and Kurapika’s vehicle. Kurapika stood at the open driver door after tossing their umbrella in. They leant against the frame of the car as Gon nibbled at his lip, torn. 

“Gon, just go with Killua. We’ll meet up at the beach,” Kurapika said in that reassuring voice that eased Gon’s worries enough to join Killua on the motorcycle. Killua could see the concern in Gon’s eyes as he handed the helmet back to Gon. Gon’s eyes were on the nearly opaque windowpane of Kurapika’s vehicle, likely meeting eyes with both Uvogin and Knuckle as if to say, “ _You better take care of Kurapika, OR ELSE_ .”

As Killua kickstarted the bike, he realized where Gon’s perspective would change here. At night, Kurapika hung out at twenty-four hour cafés—in other words, they weren’t even hanging around those two alphas. Gon’s concern further cemented the hierarchy that Kurapika seemed to be catching onto. 

Kurapika was in this ragtag pack, too, and they knew it now. 

Kurapika led the way to the nearest beach. Killua revved the engine of his bike as they careened around the corner out of the parking garage. The swift turn had Gon gripping tightly to Killua’s shirt, latching his arms around Killua’s midsection, and holding tightly as they wove into traffic. He wondered if he could  _actually_ feel Gon’s heartbeat against his back, or if it was just his own going on overdrive thinking about the fact that Gon hadn’t stopped staring at him all that morning. 

_Quit feeling guilty. It’s for the best_ , he told himself, because it was true. He could wait for the day Gon had a better grip on reality, then, and only then, would Killua risk it with Gon. 

Kurapika drove them through a park with a winding road that curved around a lake fed by an ocean stream. Salty sea air pushed Killua’s hair back from his eyes, and the light reflecting off of the water glimmered in the corner of his vision. He took a deep breath of the air as they broke away to the sand dunes and the parking lot outside of the beach park. 

The wheels crunched over the dusting of sand on the asphalt. Killua held his feet out and, slowing to a stop, touched them down on the concrete. He cut the engine and propped the stand up, and he did all this while Gon was still holding onto him like his life depended on it. 

Gon’s nose was on the fabric between Killua’s shoulder blades. Killua sucked in a deep breath as Gon’s hand lightened its hold on his waist, and ghosted over his abdomen before at last releasing him.

Killua staggered off of the bike. He twisted back around to find Gon holding the helmet out to him, an innocent smile on his face. Killua snatched it and latched it onto the bike handle with the lock.

As he was securing it, Uvogin’s shadow fell over him and slapped the sunhat on his windswept hair. Killua flicked the rim up to see Uvogin’s pleased smile. 

Uvogin turned back to Knuckle and Gon to say, “My guy will be here by noon, so we have some time to warm up.”

“Let’s go for a run then, yeah?” Knuckle suggested, already tearing off his shirt. He was wearing a floral-printed, vibrant summer button-up, so it was easy to rip it off so the button clasps popped open. Killua laughed as Gon jumped, startled by the aggressive motion that put Knuckle’s toned body on display.

He was stocky and built wide, but  _fuck it_ if he didn’t have the body of a goddamn gym trainer. He could have benchpressed Killua  _easily_ , and truthfully, Killua was tempted to ask. The guy’s biceps had the circumference of Killua’s skull, and Uvogin was no better. 

Uvogin, goaded into showing off his  _valuables_ , chuckled and yanked his shirt up by the hem. Gon covered his eyes like Uvogin had just stripped down to nothing, but truthfully, Uvogin was still sporting his swimming trunks and nothing but. 

Killua whistled and Kurapika glowered from where they stood at the hood of the car and said, “I hate werewolves on sunny days.”

Uvogin flexed his enormous biceps and popped each pec up one at a time. “You know you love it,” he said, making a kissy face.

Kurapika stuck their tongue out in disgust as Gon said, “If Leorio was here, he’d kick your ass.”

Knuckle snorted as Kurapika flushed underneath the shade of their sunhat. Killua gasped out a bewildered laugh as Kurapika threw their fists down and said, “Stop with that! I don’t know why I put up with you sometimes.”

“You’ve only known me for a week,” Gon said. 

“Yeah, and it’s been long enough for me to decide that you’re  _ridiculous_ ,” they seethed, fangs showing. 

Gon beamed as Kurapika stomped off, muttering about  _Leorio this_ ,  _Gon that_ . 

Killua jogged after them, turning back to wave at the others and say, “I’ll be meditating! Sniff me out when y’all are done!”

As he turned away and leapt over the sand dunes after Kurapika, Gon started to jog after him, only to stop at the edge of the parking lot when he realized what, exactly, he was doing. Knuckle called his name, and so he reluctantly turned away from Killua and Kurapika to join Uvogin and Knuckle on their run. 

Killua marched across the sand in his combat boots, the heat from the sun spreading warmth across his black jeans and bare arms. The heat accumulated in his lungs along with the fresh, salty air from the ocean breeze. Kurapika had their umbrella popped open, and, upon finding a proper spot on the edge of the forest, stuck it into the dune. They laid a towel down underneath it and took a seat with enough space beside them for Killua.

Killua collapsed beside them with a sigh. He started to unlace his boots as Kurapika studied the beachgoers with a somber expression, their brow furrowed over their sunglasses. 

“Something’s different,” they said.

“What exactly?” he asked, yanking one boot off. He stuffed his sock into it before sinking his toes into the warm, white sand. 

Kurapika hummed thoughtfully and said, “Something with Gon. I haven’t known him long, but I think Knuckle’s training is picking up.”

“Gon’s an alpha,” Killua said.

Kurapika turned to him with a startled look. Killua finished off the other boot before leaning back and meeting Kurapika’s eyes. His reflection in the sunglasses disappeared when Kurapika lifted them to stare properly at him and say, “So that’s it, then. Huh. Perhaps it has to do with the fact that he’s around more alphas than he is regular wolves.”

“I don’t think so,” Killua confessed, shaking his head. “I didn’t think he’d present so soon. I thought that took years. Like, pups don’t grow up that fast, right?”

“Yeah, usually it’s around puberty. But Gon’s already gone through puberty, sort of? Human puberty, I mean, so it makes sense that he’d present sooner rather than later.”

“What made you notice?” Killua asked. 

“When he looked at me before we left the garage,” they said. They lowered their sunglasses back down and looked to the ocean. The breeze ruffled their blonde bangs back as they said, “I know he considers me a part of his pack, which worries me.”

“Why?”

“I’ve never been a part of a pack,” they said. “I don’t think I have the right attitude for it. I’d prefer to stay in my flat, reading books. Wolves require… more stimulation. I don’t think I could go adventuring with you two.”

“If he asked, would you go with us?” Killua asked. 

Kurapika said nothing for a while. Killua didn’t bother asking again, knowing that Kurapika was thinking over it quite seriously. After a minute of calm silence, Kurapika took in a breath. “Yes, I would.”

“Gon wants you to come with us,” he said, and again, he felt Kurapika’s eyes on him. Killua clasped his arms around his knees. “He mentioned it two nights ago, when you guys first got here.”

“Oh,” Kurapika hummed.

“I don’t think he even knows that you’re a part of the pack.” Gon had a way of saying things off of the top of his head without a second thought. The thought of letting Kurapika join them likely popped into Gon’s head a split second before he said it out loud. “I don’t think he knows he’s an alpha, either.”

“How did you find out?”

Killua clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. He trusted Kurapika, and knew that anything he said would be kept between them. He couldn’t say this to Leorio, but… Kurapika was different. With Leorio, mentioning it would be too personal. Kurapika was purposefully ignorant about it, and entirely conscious of whatever kept Leorio with them. 

He sighed and squinted a little. “Because we kissed last night. At the laundromat. He said he wanted me to himself.”

“Oh.”

Silence followed. They listened to the waves a while longer as Killua let Kurapika process it. “What did you say?” they said at last.

“I told him no. If he doesn’t even know about being an alpha… I didn’t know what he’d do to you guys if he followed his instincts. Knowing him, he’d definitely follow them,” he said. “Do you think Knuckle knows?”

“No. I don’t think he was expecting this any more than we were.”

“Yeah.”

“I think you made the right decision.”

“Yeah, me too,” he agreed. 

“It won’t be forever,” Kurapika told him. 

He nodded silently, swallowing hard. He knew that, which was what kept him from saying ‘yes’ straight away, no questions asked.

Eventually, he confessed that he had to start meditating. Kurapika fell silent as Killua unpacked the link enhancer from Heaven’s Arena. They watched as Killua clipped it to their forehead before tugging his knees in close, crossing his legs at the ankles. After sticking the link ring on his finger, he positioned his hands on his shins and let out a slow, steady breath. 

Kurapika pulled a book from their bag and began to read as Killua closed his eyes and prepared to meditate. He focused on the sound of Kurapika’s book pages turning, rustling in the breeze. His mind drifted to the ocean, the waves rolling in on the coast. He shifted his ankles so his heels dug against the sand through the blankets, shifting underneath him. He turned his attention inward, honing in on his thoughts that scattered about the breeze. 

He sifted through them, sorting them off like his mind subconsciously did each night. 

And then, his mind was sinking, sucked beneath him, slipping out of his body and through the darkness behind his eyelids.

Brilliant white flooded his mind’s eye. It felt like sunlight shining directly through his eyelids, but rather than warmth, he was met with the bitter cold. He sucked in a deep breath and held it as he searched through the white. The light was blinding, endless. With no horizon in sight, Killua began to feel disoriented, tilted off balance by vertigo. 

He grounded himself with a firm, resolute stare off into the distance. With nothing to grab hold of, he was left floating, waiting.

He called out into the void and waited for his answer. 

There was no way to tell just how long Killua spent in the void. With no sunlight to show him the time, and no use of his limbs, unwilling to open his eyelids, Killua stilled himself in this dimension beyond his won reality. He could be patient, when he wanted to be. 

In the distance, something flickered across his vision. He waited as it took its form, blurry, so far off Killua could barely make out its shape. But, from what he knew of this dimension, it was as close as he could get to making contact. He couldn’t move even if he wanted, and so he waited like bait on a hook for the beast to reach out to him. 

It drifted closer. It was a mere silhouette, foggy around the edges from the light. And then, it was close enough to see. 

Echoing footsteps clicked closer, like heels on a polished floor. He waited as the beast shifted, sinking into the form of what appeared to be a  _girl_ . Killua stared at it as it came to stand in front of him, peering up at him as if through a bulbous fisheye lens. Killua half expected it to tap on the glass in front of his vision, as if there was anything between them now. 

The girl had bright yellow hair slicked back into a high ponytail and curled into a perfect ringlet.  _Not a demon_ , Killua decided, which meant that it wasn’t up to him to make contact. Had he encountered a demon, they would have touched hands and been fused together until the connection was severed. 

This girl wasn’t a daemon—not the sort Killua expected, anyway. He suddenly regretted not meditating in the parking lot. With a summoning circle, it would be so obvious to this daemon what Killua’s intentions were. 

He filtered through his mental catalogue of daemons to try and classify this girl when he was suddenly ripped from the dimension by a tap on his shoulder.

He gasped, heart surging into his throat as he opened his eyes and met a pair of amber eyes leant close in front of him. 

“—lua?” Gon was saying, repeating his name again. “Killua, it’s almost night, we should head back.”

Killua clasped a hand to his chest, and then to the ground, solidifying himself in the present. He was on the beach, Gon was wet and shirtless, everyone was staring at him. All he could think was,  _I need chalk_ .

He scrambled up in a panic, reaching for his rucksack. “I found a faerie,” he said, frantic. He yanked his chalk baggie from his bag and shook out a fresh stick as he got to his feet.

“ _What?_ Already?” Kurapika said, lunging after him. They grabbed their umbrella and packed up quickly with the others hurrying after Killua. “Did you make contact?!”

“No, I need a summoning circle  _now_ . I don’t want her to leave yet,” Killua said. Beside him, Gon tapped his arm. He looked over and found Gon holding his boots out. Killua snatched them, his rucksack slung over one shoulder and his state of affairs all ruffled and unkempt. 

Killua ignored the ache of his stomach from ignoring dinner. He jogged over the dune and leapt onto the concrete of the deserted parking lot. Only their vehicles remained, and with all of that empty space, Killua dropped his rucksack on the dusty asphalt and got down on his hands and knees. 

He drew with wide, arcing strokes. He connected the circle in a matter of seconds and started on the second ring, the third, before striking marks across it and finishing it off with a triangular pattern in the center. He chucked the chalk away, and Knuckle leapt to avoid getting hit. 

“Do you  _really_ want to connect with a faerie?” Kurapika insisted, stepping in front of where Killua was crossing his legs just outside of the circle and hunkering down. “Just wait a day and see if you can find a full daemon. Faeries are unreliable—it could just be tricking you—”

“Tough nuts,” Killua hissed. “I’m bringing her here if she’s still waiting for me.”

“Killua, wait—” Kurapika tried again, but Killua was already closing his eyes and succumbing to the link.

He slipped through easily—almost  _too_ easily. His mind slid from him like oil dripping through his fingers. It was so fast that he almost feared he’d lose his grip. The descent was so fast, so powerful, that when he landed in the other dimension, he was momentarily blinded by the dizzying turn of events.

And then, the faerie was spinning into view. 

He settled, panting as if he had run a mile to get there. The faerie had her hands on her scrawny hips, her circle skirt swishing with the motion of the dimensional currents that caused her form to shimmer in an iridescent film. Killua touched down at her level, eyes wide as she stared him down before speaking at all.

When she did speak, her voice was clear and discernible. “ _You’re looking for a teacher_ ,” she said. 

“ _Yes. I’m looking for someone to teach me light magic_ ,” he said. There was no point lying here, but he knew it would make him vulnerable to just about any daemon he came across. Faeries were no different.

Rationally, he knew to heed Kurapika’s warning. Faeries were mischievous, nature spirits. They were only reliable for their unreliability and dishonesty, but Killua was perfectly aware of his own nature as an individual. He couldn’t judge a faerie for being the very thing he was: dishonest. 

The faerie circled him for a moment, humming almost tauntingly. She knew he couldn’t drag her or any other demon or daemon up to the surface—at least, not with his current link enhancer. Even then it would be difficult to force any one of them up. She could likely sense his desperation as he waited for her to make her decision. 

At last, she came to stand firmly in front of him and gave him a nod. “Alright. I’ll teach you.”

She reached her hand out as if to shake his. He held out his ringed hand, and the moment his ring touched her hand, they bright white light began to fade. 

When he opened his eyes, he was in the pitch dark of the parking lot. The only light, a street lamp across the way, shot a spark of electricity and fizzled out. Killua planted his hands to the concrete and pushed himself up just as the chalk on the asphalt began to hiss like acid.

Killua stood as electricity sparked along the circumference of the summoning circle. Wind churned up from the ground, spiraling a cloud of dust and sand in the center of the circle. He thrust his arms out, dispelling the torrent of air. His hair picked up in the receding air that seemed to dissolve into a vacuum in the far distance. 

He squinted against the sand that blew towards him, and then at the cloud of black smoke raising up from the summoning circle. His heart stammered in his chest, his breath caught and suffocating his throat as he watched a mass of black smoke take the form of something entirely too large to fit the image of the faerie girl in the other dimension.

He swallowed hard, holding himself still to keep from stepping back as the beast took its form. When the smoke shed from its surface, Killua let out a gasp of relief. The shape returned to that of the girl he saw in the other dimension. 

Her yellow hair came into view first, swinging down with gravity and bouncing lightly against her back. Her skin, initially a deep, greenish-grey color, dissolved in speckles into the color of human skin. Faeries were capable shapeshifters, more so than any of the daemons on the spectrum. Their ability to take the form of animals and humans made them excellent tricksters, and made them infamously distrustful. 

Killua blinked as the girl’s skirt came into view, sweeping around her and settling over a pair of brilliantly white stockings and a pair of pink high-heels. She turned around and met Killua’s eyes at once. 

She took a step back, one leg crossed behind the other, and took her skirt with two hands. She ducked forward into a bow and said, “Miss Biscuit, but you may call me Bisky. At your service, Killua Zoldyck.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now, I know what y'all are thinking: "But Sarah, who was the GUY Uvogin was gonna get the surfboards from?" and Imma tell you right here right now: I have no friggin' idea. None at all. Probably Shalnark but I want them to have a bromance as well. Maybe, it's Shalnark POST BREAKUP and Uvogin doesn't want to deal with those _feelings_. And Shalnark was the one to break up with HIM and Uvogin still loves him with his entire being and while Killua was off meditating, Uvogin was on his knees quoting Shakespeare to Knuckle and Gon about his broken heart, shattered to pieces at his feet and Knuckle's like, "Dude, Shalnark _literally_ just said 'have a nice day' you're so dramatic" and Gon's off to the side doing that little amused giggle like he's embarrassed but he doesn't wanna show it (you know the laugh, he did it in the show a few times, usually when Leorio did something stupid).


	18. 18 x training

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What was that line in the election arc? Something like "Everyone wants Biscuit to scold them?" Yeah, that.

“Whoa,” Knuckle whispered from the edge of the parking lot. 

Killua never would have moved had someone not said  _something_ . He blinked, startled back to reality. The faerie— _Bisky_ , as she called herself—remained in the summoning circle, staring at him with those wide, crystalline eyes. 

Killua let out a shaky breath and with it, relaxed a fraction. He cleared his throat and said, “O-Okay. How long can you stay in this dimension?”

Demons and daemons had an allotted timeframe if brought through certain summoning circles. Killua hadn’t the slightest clue as to what summoning circle to use or how much magic he would have to use if he intended to keep Bisky here for longer than a few hours. It was different with every demon, and Killua had really only spent time studying Godspeed’s parameters whenever he needed to adjust his circle tactics.

Bisky, though, was the first daemon he had  _ever_ summoned with the intention of speaking to her. 

Bisky looked down at the chalk at her feet. She put a hand to her chin and circled around, taking in the hasty circle Killua had made in his hurry to summon her. He blushed, suddenly embarrassed by the state of it. This was his  _teacher_ now, and  _this_ was the example he gave of his powers?

“We have thirty minutes,” she decided. “Right now, the circle is at midnight, and I need it to be at dusk. The placement of the second moon is improper in relation to the fourth. The first is also a fraction off. If I stepped out of this circle, I would burst into flames. This just won’t do.”

Killua scrambled for his chalk pouch. He grabbed a new stick, nearly dropping it as he ran to a new patch of concrete. Bisky tapped her foot on the ground as Killua dragged the chalk into a broad circle. 

“I’d like to change my appearance as well, so make the first moon waning, the second waxing, and the third and fourth as half moons.”

“Okay. What about the planetary alignment?” 

Bisky explained the asymmetrical pattern to Killua as he sketched in the triangle of conjuration to the west, where the setting sun would be positioned. He circled the deosil circumference three times, as per Bisky’s instructions. All the while, the others watched from the outskirts of the parking lot. The umbrella slipped gradually from Kurapika’s hands, amazed by the magical being that was in their presence barking orders at Killua from where she was locked in the center of the original summoning circle.

When Killua was done, he rubbed the back of his hand against his sweating forehead, the chalk diminished to a stub. He looked up at Bisky for approval, and she frowned seriously over at it. She tipped her head to the side, humming thoughtfully.

“You have potential,” she decided. “This will do for twenty-four hours.”

Killua slumped. He had hoped for two days at the very least. 

“It will take much out of you,” she warned.

“I know,” he said.

“Then we will focus on forging your connection with regenerative white magic when I return,” she concluded. Killua nodded, suddenly eager that she thought even  _that_ much was possible. She clapped her hands and he stood at attention, tossing the chalk aside. “Alright. Banish me then, and we shall get to work.”

He agreed. He cast his hands out to dampen the magic still pulsing through the original summoning circle. Bisky’s form began to waver before clouding over in black smoke. The cloud plummeted towards the concrete and dissipated into the air.

As Killua ran to the new summoning circle, Gon turned to Knuckle and Uvogin, who looked like they were trying to make sense of this turn of events as much as  _he_ was. Gon had expected a monstrous creature like Godspeed or The Magician—certainly  _not_ an adolescent little girl.

When Killua brought Bisky to the surface again, it was easy to see the difference the circle made. There was something  _off_ about her first appearance—perhaps it was the glossy texture of her skin that made her almost transparent, but now, that shimmery film was gone. In its place was solid flesh and bones and bright, sparkling eyes.

The black smoke drifted from her form as she stepped confidently from the center of the circle in Killua’s direction. Gon tensed, but he stopped several paces away as Bisky left the circle completely, her heels clicking on the concrete. She walked straight past Killua, and the nervous energy in Gon’s system fell away. 

Bisky stretched her arms out in front of her, turning her hands over and back again as she examined her form. She glanced down at her legs, turning her heels out and spinning in a circle. “Ah… much better,  _much_ better,” she praised. 

And then, she raised her hand and snapped her fingers. 

Gon jumped as something erupted from between her shoulder blades. A pair of sharp, jagged wings flared out and fluttered. They were a creamy, transparent texture made of the same color her original skin was—a textured grey color. They were narrow and long, and Gon had the distinct sense that if he ever drew near them, she flay open his skin with them. 

Killua seemed equally as stunned by the sight of them. He hesitated, staring at her as she ran her finger across the edge of her wing. Gon smelled a tinge of something  _like_ blood, but not quite, pooling on the tip of her finger. Her blood dripped blue from her finger. 

“Yes, good,” she hummed, licking the cut clean. “You must be exhausted. But we don’t have time for sleep—where can we go to meditate on this?”

“I have a room in the city, we can go there,” Killua said. 

“No, not good enough,” she said, shaking her head. She paced away from him, and he followed. The two of them passed Gon, who was frozen in place by the sight of the faerie’s wings cutting too close near his cheek. “We need open space. I can feel the pollution sinking into my  _skin_ .”

“I have an estate in the countryside outside of Yorknew?” Knuckle offered. 

Bisky hummed, shaking her head. “No, I can see it in Killua’s head. Not good enough.”

“Whale Island is pretty secluded?” Gon offered. 

Bisky stilled, and Killua stopped behind her. She turned to face Gon, her wings fluttering closed. The wind caught on her ponytail, sending it billowing to the side as she pointed a finger at him and said, “ _Perfect_ . I can see it now. We go there.”

“It’ll take half our time to get there,” Killua said, dejectedly.

“Then we have half of the time to whip you into shape,” she declared, hands on her hips. “Now, take me to Whale Island.”

Killua was quick to agree. As he led Bisky to his motorcycle, his heart hammered in his chest. So he  _hadn’t_ been entirely wrong that his answers were at Whale Island. He had misjudged the reasoning for it, but still, that much was a relief. He wasn’t as incompetent as he initially thought after discovering his affections for Gon. 

Bisky halted at the bike and gave it a sideways look as Killua mounted it, his rucksack on his shoulders and his hands reaching over to unlatch his helmet. He held it out to her, and she squinted at it for a moment, bent forward to inspect it. At last, she straightened and said, “Please hold. I might have a trick up my sleeve.”

She rolled up the sleeves on her cardigan before snapping her fingers. Black enveloped her arms and snaked up over her shoulders, coating her in a layer of black that turned to smoke. At first, Killua feared that the summoning circle wasn’t good enough, but as the smoke vanished, it left behind a small, fluttering particle in its place. 

The fluttering of her wings caught the light of the moon and the city, flashing her in and out of existence before at last coming to land atop Killua’s helmet. She was no taller than his index finger, and even that was a stretch. Her skin was back to its grey coating, and her footprints left behind black dust on his pure white helmet. 

Behind him, Gon gasped. “Wow! She’s so cute and tiny!”

Bisky crossed her arms and said nothing. Killua realized that it was probably impossible for her to speak at that size anyway. 

He passed the helmet onto Gon. Bisky lost her balance and fluttered off, hovering near Killua’s shoulder as he opened his rucksack flap and said, “You could stay in here for the ride.”

She zipped into the rucksack and perched atop his clean, folded sweater. As he closed the flap and tucked his rucksack away in the attached compartment on the back of his bike, Kurapika came to stand beside his bike, a worrisome look on their face. 

“Are you certain about this?” they asked.

“Yes,” he said.

“You should come with us!” Gon suggested. 

Kurapika snapped their mouth shut, and if they were capable of blushing then, Killua was certain they would be. Kurapika glanced over at Knuckle and Uvogin, who were lingering on the other side of the car, waiting for Kurapika to unlock the door. They fumbled with their keys and clicked the unlock button so the wolves could get in.

Kurapika cleared their throat awkward, tucking a strand of hair behind their ear. Their hair was pulled back into a half bun now that the sun was gone, and their hat was folded up in their backpack. “That… sounds good. Yeah, I’d love to come.”

 

* * *

 

They took a late night ferry from Heaven’s Arena to Yorknew. At the dock, Uvogin gave them each a hug which Gon was eager to bound into full-force. He gave Uvogin a bear hug, his legs around Uvogin’s waist, as Uvogin laughed and ruffled his head. “You’ll be twice this size next time I see you, so might as well take advantage of it,” he had said as Gon preened, his chin perched on Uvogin’s shoulder.

They left on the boat with Gon perched at the railing, waving frantically at Uvogin and shouting, “We’ll come back to visit!”

Uvogin cupped his hands over his mouth and yelled back, “ _YOU BETTER!_ ”

Killua leant back with his rucksack in his lap, watching with a smile. He turned to Kurapika, who leant against the hood of their car, beyond amused. They scoffed and glanced away, off towards the horizon. Knuckle went off to hang out with Gon at the back railing, and when he was gone, Kurapika turned back to Killua and nodded their head towards the back of the car.

“Get some rest. It sounds like you’ll be up for a while once we land,” they said. 

Killua agreed to it. He picked up his rucksack from where he had it settled between his legs on the seat. When he stood up, though, it was like an alarm came on that instantly alerted Gon to the shift. Gon whipped around to look at Killua, who froze as if caught in the act of doing something terrible. He resisted the urge to smile like he was an innocent little duckling, as habit generally warranted. 

Killua slowly reached for the back seat of Kurapika’s car, and Gon jolted in preparation for a chase. Killua gradually lowered himself into the seat and, cautiously, shut the door behind him. 

Kurapika’s car was quiet and smelled of fresh leather. He settled back with his hair against the headrest. The glow from his link enhancer cast a faded white across the ceiling as he stared at the fuzzy lining until he looked down at the rucksack and undid the flap. 

The faerie climbed out. It should have seemed odd, like a spider emerging from the dark of his backpack, but Killua was strangely fond of having a daemon to accompany him places. Bisky fluttered her wings and pushed off of the rucksack, leaping to the window ledge where she could observe the shenanigans of Knuckle returning from the railing. 

Gon was nowhere in sight. 

The back door on the other side of the car opened. 

Killua turned sharply to it just as none other than Gon fell in, swinging his feet in, and slamming the door. Killua startled at the intrusion as Gon said, “What’re you doing?”

“Trying to  _sleep_ ,” he answered, stuffing his rucksack between his feet. He settled back and said, “I’m exhausted and we have two hours before Yorknew. Kurapika’s idea.”

“It’s easier to sleep lying down,” Gon said. Killua opened one eye to glare at Gon. Gon stared back intently, pupils wide in the dark of Kurapika’s car. There were lights out on the deck, sure, but with the tinted windows, it was impossible to tell. 

Killua sighed, rolling his eyes. “I’m fine. You should get some sleep, too.”

“Killua,” Gon stressed. Killua gritted his teeth.  _Did Gon even know what he was asking? Probably_ . There were just some things Killua couldn’t indulge, and voluntarily dropping his head onto Gon’s lap was one of them. 

Killua groaned because he could still feel Gon’s eyes on him. He shifted, curling his knees up onto the seat as he turned and hissed, “You’re a piece of work, aren’t you?”

Killua laid down on his side. He could see through the windshield where Kurapika was standing, looking out over the water. Through the open moonroof, Killua saw the stars stretched across the inky blue sky. He propped his head on Gon’s thigh and sighed, his shoulders pressed against Gon’s leg. Gon pulled his hand up from where it was pressed against the seat between them and, slowly, he laid it over Killua’s chest. 

He felt the heat of Gon’s palm like scalding metal against his skin. He resisted the urge to flinch away, and after a moment, the feeling numbed. His eyes drifted from the stars to look up at Gon, who was staring down at him with a look of quiet fascination. 

Killua shoved his hand into Gon’s face. “Quit looking at me like that,” he said, the heat from Gon’s hand on his chest flushing to his cheeks. 

The sound of Bisky’s wings fluttering pulled their attention away for a moment. Killua watched as she hopped onto the shoulder of the passenger’s seat, wings glittering and leaving black dust in their path. Killua took that as the cue to get to sleep, for fuck’s sake, because he needed it. 

When he closed his eyes, the image of Godspeed came to mind. His brow tightened as he tried to dispel it like he did in meditation, but the image persisted, along with the agonizing sensation of his throat being torn into. When he fell asleep, he fell into a nightmare of the fight as it looped over and over again. 

He slept through the docking in Yorknew, and through Knuckle and Kurapika settling into the front seats. He slept through the dull rumble in Gon’s chest when their friends joined them. He slept through the look Kurapika and Knuckle shared when they glanced behind them at Gon only to realize that Gon was just as unconscious as Killua, growling faintly in his sleep.

Knuckle wheeled Killua’s motorcycle off of the ferry and into the empty parking lot. They’d be back before long to catch the next boat to Whale Island, so they left it there for the brief detour through Yorknew.

Kurapika drove them through Yorknew to their flat where they made quick work of grabbing extra clothes and packing them into a duffle. They nabbed a bottle of impressive sunscreen for vampires on top of their larger, more reliable umbrella. They set the umbrella Killua bought them on the stand instead, and smiled fondly at it before turning into the kitchen and opening the freezer pantry.

They grabbed a bag of blood from their stock. It was uncomfortably cold in their hands, so they closed their hands around it and sent a current of magic through it. It warmed to a reasonable temperature—97 degrees, to be exact—and sloshed in the baggy as Kurapika struck the bag with a sharp-pointed straw, like they were preparing to drink boba. 

Their eyes flushed red then, the hunger gnawing at every thread of muscle and vein in their body. It strung their body tight with stress—a sign that they were overdue for a drink. Kurapika knew that Killua wouldn’t have minded if they happened to have lost control on the trip to Heaven’s Arena—Kurapika always kept their meals at the fine limit of half a pint—but they knew now that Gon would have gone berserk. 

_I’m lucky they’re both asleep right now_ , Kurapika sighed, eyes closing as they sucked Killua’s sweet blood down their throat. Knuckle was sleep as well, however lighter since they were driving through Yorknew. When they had arrived in the apartment parking garage, Knuckle and closed his eyes and put his head against the window while Kurapika went to take care of things. 

The baggie deflated in their hands. They sucked the last droplets dry before rolling up the baggie and depositing the straw in the sink. They rinsed their hands after cleaning the straw and dropped the baggie into the hazard waste bin in the pantry.

They brushed their teeth and spritzed cologne over their collarbone. They rubbed it in idly with their fingers as they tossed the duffle over their shoulder and left the flat. 

From there, they drove off to the pack estate.

When they were within the gated community, Knuckle awoke and reached back to nudge Killua awake. Killua groaned, turning onto his side as he pushed himself up onto one elbow to see where they were. 

The ocean flitted in and out of view between the houses and the trees. He recognized the cityscape in the distance and deduced that they were already in Yorknew. 

Gon woke up, his hand falling from Killua’s chest. He stretched back and yawned obnoxiously as Knuckle said, “Let me know if you need anything, Gon.”

“Aw, you aren’t coming with us?” Gon whined, and Knuckle shook his head. Gon pouted as Knuckle reached across the center console to rub a hand through Gon’s spiky hair. 

“I’ve got a pack to take care of, kid. I’ll see you around, though,” he said.

Kurapika’s car came to a stop in front of the house. Their headlights glowed against the garage door as Knuckle stepped out and swung his overnight bag over his shoulder. He waved to Kurapika and Killua before slamming the door shut. 

He didn’t make it very far, though, because a light turned on in the foyer and the front door banged open. A lanky figure came zipping down the stoop at the speed of light, flying past Knuckle, and opening the passenger door once again. 

“Leorio!” Gon cried, startled. Kurapika and Killua were too speechless to say a word.

Leorio leant in and scanned over the lot of them before saying, “You guys are back already? How’d it go?”

“As good as can be expected,” Killua muttered, rubbing a hand over his eyes. 

“What happened with Hisoka?” Leorio asked, kneeling onto the passenger’s seat. 

Killua ducked his head, scratching a hand over his hair. Kurapika explained, then, what had happened during the fight against Hisoka and his demon. Leorio slumped into the seat, glasses slipping down his nose. His hair was in a disarray and he was wearing plaid pajama pants. This tale certainly wasn’t the best way to wake up.

It was still dark out, just ticking past four in the morning, when Kurapika finished explaining why they had a faerie in the car. Leorio looked around for Bisky, who took to hiding behind his seat where Killua and Gon could see her. In the dark, though, and with her wings stilled, she seemed to disappear into the leather fabric.

“So you’re off to Whale Island then?” Leorio said. 

“Yeah, there’s a ferry leaving at five, and we left Killua’s bike at the docks,” Kurapika said. 

“Then I’m coming with you,” he decided. 

The look on Kurapika’s face made Killua grateful that Knuckle was already in the house where he couldn’t hear Leorio. They were both thinking the same thing. Before, it wouldn’t have mattered, but now that Gon had presented as an alpha, Knuckle’s instincts were bound to tip him in. Leorio joining them would be exactly the hint Knuckle needed to tack the label on Gon and mark him as an enemy. It was likely that Leorio didn’t even know, and Gon was too clueless to bother denying Leorio’s offer.

“Yeah! Come with us, there’s plenty of room at Mito-san’s house! Kurapika missed you!” Gon said. 

“ _Gon_ ,” Kurapika hissed. Gon flinched at the obvious scorn in their voice. 

Leorio raised an eyebrow at them. Killua swallowed hard as Kurapika rubbed a hand over their forehead and said, “You  _can’t_ come with us, Leorio.”

“Why the hell not? You can’t tell me what to do,” Leorio said, shutting the car door for emphasis. He went so far as to buckle up as Kurapika looked back at Killua, who sighed and nodded. 

“Because Gon’s an alpha, Leorio,” Kurapika said. 

At this, Leorio stilled. He twisted around to look back at Gon, who blinked, dumbfounded, at the lot of them. Gon withered a little under all of their stares and whined, “What makes you say that?”

Leorio pushed his glasses up and cursed. He turned back around and dropped his head back against the seat. After a moment, he said, “It’s fine. I just won’t tell Knuckle and Morel where I’m going.”

“His scent’s gonna be all over you when you come back,” Kurapika insisted. “They’ll kick you from the pack.”

Leorio put a hand to his face and bent over his knees. When Kurapika tried to insist he stay behind, Leorio held a hand up and said, “Shut up, I’m thinking.”

“Am I really an alpha?” Gon asked, sounding worried. “What if I don’t want to be?”

“You can’t change it,” Killua sighed, pulling a knee up to prop his elbow on. He met Kurapika’s eyes before saying, “We didn’t really know until last night.”

Gon stared at him. Killua couldn’t maintain eye contact without wanting to blush, because he knew Gon was trying to piece together what, if anything, hinted at his alpha nature that night. At last, Gon had the good sense to blush bright red and cried, “That doesn’t prove anything!”

“Gon, trust us,” Kurapika said, leaning around their seat to meet Gon’s eyes. Gon frowned, shoulders slumping. “We just don’t want to cause conflict with you and Knuckle. Leorio’s in a pack, which means that if he hangs out with you and your pack on his own, he’ll pick up your scent and acclimate to your pack. You can’t stop it from happening, so it’s best to just avoid it.”

“What if Knuckle were to come with us?” Gon asked.

“That’d be fine and all if we haven’t already kept him away from his pack,” they said. 

Leorio opened the passenger door. 

Killua felt a prick of something akin to guilt when he watched Leorio step out of the car, resolute. He wanted Leorio to do as he pleased and come with them, but in the long run, he knew it wouldn’t be the brightest idea. The fact that Leorio was willing to make this decision dampened the initial pain of watching Leorio back out of the trip to Whale Island. 

Before closing the door, he leant in and said, “I’ll see what I can do. I’ll text Kurapika if I’m able to join you guys later.”

“Okay,” Kurapika agreed.

Leorio shut the door and, stepping back, waved to them as Kurapika pulled away. Leorio, with his hand on his hip, barefoot, wearing plaid pajama bottoms, looked like a grandma waving to her grandchildren as they left for home. Killua waved back as Bisky leapt to his knee where she sat for the remainder of the trip to the ferry. 

Killua put his temple to the car window and sighed. He stared down at the faerie, who weighed next to nothing and felt like nothing on his leg. Bisky crossed her legs and folded her arms, wings fluttering to the motion of words Killua couldn’t hear nor understand. 

His eyelids were heavy, straining to stay awake. He fell asleep against the window and remained there until the early dawn when the ferry horn blared at the docks for boarding. Killua shifted irritably, certain that he had only been asleep for five minutes, but now, a dusty blue was stretching across the horizon, blending with the inky night. He groaned as he realized that he’d have to get up and take care of his motorcycle. 

As he moved to get out, he grabbed his rucksack and flicked open the top. Bisky climbed in and stayed there until they paid their fares at the ticket booth. Killua rubbed sleep from his eyes as he started up the engine on his bike and wheeled forward onto the ramp. 

The boat wasn’t due to leave for another twenty minutes, and so Killua stuck to his bike, yawning as Bisky settled on the rubber grip on his motorcycle handlebars. He picked at his nails until a shadow fell over him, cast by the lights from the docks. When he looked, he found Gon standing near him, the exhaustion in his eyes far less noticeable than his own. In fact, Gon looked wide awake.

His brow furrowed as he asked, “Is that why you said no to me?” 

Killua tried not to think of it, knowing full well that if it was on  _his_ mind, Bisky could see it, too. With demons, it didn’t matter, but Illumi’s paranoia had prompted Killua to learn a few tricks to block his mind against psychological attacks. Bisky wasn’t a threat, maybe, but that didn’t mean he wanted her to know about  _everything_ .

He struggled to answer for the second it took to block Bisky out, who fluttered in the corner of his vision, jumping to the nearest handlebar between Killua and Gon. 

“Yeah. That was my main reason. Why?” Killua said, glancing up from where his gaze had fallen to the ground. 

“What do I have to do to change your mind?” Gon demanded. 

Killua flushed and stammered, “G-Gon! You can’t—Fuck, I don’t know. I’ve never dealt with new alphas before. When I first met Knuckle, he was already five years an alpha. I don’t know what it takes to cool your jets.”

“What do you mean by that?” Gon cried, frustrated beyond belief. Killua blinked, startled, as Gon threw his arms out and said, “What don’t you like about me being an alpha? I can change it!”

“Gon!” Killua shrieked, his entire face on fire. He put a hand to his flaming cheeks and looked around. Thankfully, the workers were distracted, and Kurapika was in the car. “You’re being ridiculous—just give it time—”

“But I want you  _now_ , Killua. I told you—every second I’m not—” Gon said, the words flying out of his mouth. Killua scrambled to shut him up, slapping his hand over Gon’s mouth. Still, he could hear the muffled words Gon had sent him on his phone. He almost hoped he’d never hear them out loud for fear of combusting on the spot. “ _—kissing you_ .”

Killua was half out of his seat, eyes wide and frantic. His exhaustion was gone and replaced by the shock of energy that fizzled on the surface of his skin and shocked Gon with a prick. Gon yelped against Killua’s hand and jumped away, touching a finger to his lips where the electricity had accidentally zapped him. 

Killua startled, shocked that he even had enough magic to do  _that_ . Everything was going into the ring, as far as he could tell, and the link attached to his forehead. The shock, though, reminded him that this was  _Gon,_ and that Killua was Gon’s first kiss. It felt almost like he was punishing Gon for having feelings, too. 

He sighed.  _Fuck_ , he cursed in his head as he reached for Gon again.

Gon flinched a little when Killua’s hand made contact with his wrist, like he was prepping for another shock. When nothing happened, Gon relaxed, and Killua said, “Look—I’m… It doesn’t matter. I’m just worried that you’re gonna lose it and not realize it.”

“Lose what?” Gon asked.

_Your sanity, your friends, you name it_ , he thought. He shook his head, though, and said instead: “Important things. I don’t know how to explain it. I’m not yours, Gon, you have to stop thinking of me like I’m not my own person or I’m not safe without you.”

“I never thought that,” Gon said, weakly. Killua sighed as Gon looked at his feet. Perhaps Gon was right about that, but the guilty pout on Gon’s lips said he was close to it. “I’m sorry, Killua.”

“It’s not fine,” Killua said. Gon looked up at him, and those heartbroken, puppy eyes pricked the back of Killua’s eyes. He blinked hard to get rid of the distraught feeling Gon gave him, looking like a kicked puppy. “It isn’t, Gon.”

“I’m just anxious about you constantly—”

“It’s okay to feel anxious, but you can’t keep stepping in and stepping all over my toes. Before, I could handle Hisoka.”

Gon stiffened at the name, and were it not for the context of this conversation, Killua was certain Gon would have argued. That was what he came to Heaven’s Arena for, wasn’t it? To insist that Killua couldn’t deal with Hisoka on his own.

Killua sucked in a deep breath. “But… that doesn’t mean I’m not grateful. I’d rather have you as my technician, anyway. Not like that rat bastard would have been much help. I don’t think he planned on giving me any magic just to watch me squirm in the ring.”

Killua dropped his hand from Gon’s wrist and dropped back down onto the motorcycle seat. He crossed his legs at his ankles and sighed, shaking his head. He met Gon’s eyes and wished he hadn’t because Gon looked as though he was willing to do anything in that very moment to convince Killua to kiss him.

As if those round, amber eyes weren’t the reason Killua fell hard in the first place. Only now, Killua was in charge. 

If only Bisky wasn’t watching. 

Killua glanced over at her and, likewise, Gon did the same. Bisky jumped a little and went airborne at the attention. She flipped away, a trail of black smoke in her path as she spiraled around Killua and into the rucksack, out of sight. 

Killua’s chest seized up when he met Gon’s eyes again. There was nothing stopping him except his own misgivings from his anxieties from before Gon ever realized how he felt. He felt dizzy from the swarm of thoughts in his head, pushing against his skull as his eyes followed the motion of Gon rolling his tongue over his lips as he waited for Killua to  _make up his goddamn mind_ .

Killua reached forward in a subtle gesture for Gon to step closer. He felt Gon’s legs brush against his thighs where he had his legs stretched out off to the side, ankles crossed. He reached up to where his hand could graze Gon’s scrawny torso, and feel the bone protruding from his hip. He soothed his thumb across it as he tipped his chin up to meet Gon’s mouth in a slow, languid kiss.

He opened his lips against Gon, his head tipping to the side. Gon’s lips were hot and his tongue soft between Killua’s lips. They were slow with it, and with Gon’s inexperience, Killua found himself smiling into the kiss until they at last parted. Gon planted one last, closed-mouth kiss to Killua’s lips before leaning back, his fingers trailing over Killua’s cheekbone. Killua looked down at Gon’s hand as it fell from his face.

Gon’s palms were scalding hot simply because of the blisters riddling the pads of his hands. They were healing, sure, but the sores on his palms were ruptured open and sticky. It made sense, Killua realized, because without light magic, Gon had no means of regenerating swiftly until his wolf was at full strength.

Killua didn’t have enough magic to heal them. He could feel his energy draining into the ring with every passing second his adrenaline faded out of his system. He blinked tiredly, rubbing the back of his hand against his forehead. If it weren’t for his family lineage and genetics, Killua estimated that summoning Bisky would have shaved an entire eight months off of his lifespan.

“You should sleep more,” Gon said.

“No, I’m done sleeping,” Killua said, shaking his head. “If I fall asleep again, I probably won’t wake up for twelve hours. I don’t have that kind of time.”

He doubted he could risk meditating. The weight of his eyelids was too strong, and every muscle in his body felt tender, as if he had just worked out all of the previous day. The fact that he had spent the entire afternoon and evening meditating left his stomach aching. He could tell not only from the discomfort of it, but also the irrational thoughts muddling his brain.

He shook his head and groaned.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” Gon asked. 

“Just… hungry, is all. I need caffeine, a nice warm bed, enough of this shit, you name it,” Killua said. 

“I don’t have any of that. Except maybe a little of the shit you might be referring to,” Gon said, scratching his cheek as he donned a sweet, innocent smile. 

Killua managed to squeeze out a short, breathy laugh. It sounded more like a sigh. “I can deal with that shit,” he said, but perhaps that was just the exhaustion talking. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't realize that Chrollo x Kurapika was a THING OOHOOHOOOOO NEW FAVORITE ANTAGONIST COMING RIGHT UP. Hisoka has ANOTHER THING COMING. Would Chrollo... be a vampire or a werewolf (or something else entirely, I can't decide)?
> 
> Also I've been thinking about this a lot, perhaps someone can explain it to me: WHY were Kurapika and Leorio ON WHALE ISLAND IN THE FIRST PLACE?? is it a common destination??? I thought only fishermen went but maybe it's, like, a midpoint between two continents??? And they just so happened to be on the ship when it stopped at Whale Island????


	19. 19 x training

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All faeries are geminis, Bisky says.

Gon shifted to the side and, gesturing to the back seat of the chopper, silently asked for permission to join Killua. Killua shuffled to the side, and he steadied the bike as Gon leant against the back of it. Half-standing aided in keeping Killua awake, and having Gon present and fully conscious made it easier to concentrate on  _something_ . 

Gon started asking questions about the academies Killua visited, started with, “When you get ahold of light magic, which academy will you give the middle finger to first?” to which Killua laughed and declared the one Kurapika attended in Lusko. It was one of his top picks and therefore, one of the first he visited. The fact that he couldn’t attend at the same time as Kurapika pissed him off even more. 

When they arrived, Gon had successfully kept Killua awake for the duration of the trip. 

They planned their morning around Killua’s training. First: he needed food; second: he needed caffeine; and third: he needed a secluded spot to work with Bisky. Gon perched himself on the back of Killua’s motorcycle and pointed the way to the nearest bakery and café where they parked on the curb and checked the opening time for the café. They were just on time, as the worker was propping open the door with a wooden wedge and changing the CLOSED sign to OPEN. 

The café was still sheltered in the shade of the buildings across the street, so Kurapika claimed the table closest to the window while Killua and Gon ordered food and drinks. Kurapika put their sunglasses up and removed a book from their bag. As they did, their attention slipped over to where Killua had left his rucksack on the seat across from them. The flap shifted and, a moment later, the faerie slipped out. 

When Gon and Killua returned, Bisky was at her full size.

Gon startled at the sight. Killua had a pastry bag in one hand and a large cup of coffee in the other, which Bisky squinted at, her hands on her hips. Her wings were gone for the moment, but she looked just as intimidating without those razors on her back. 

“What are you doing,” she said, and her tone caused him to stop and wonder if he was doing something wrong.

“I… need to eat—”

“We don’t have time for that,” she huffed. “If we don’t forge the connection, the next time you summon me for more than an hour could incapacitate you.”

“He’ll be incapacitated if he goes any longer on an empty stomach,” Kurapika sighed. 

Bisky sat down with a huff, arms crossed, swinging one leg over her opposite knee. She turned her nose into the air and said, “Can’t say I remember much about humans. I never realized how poorly designed they were.”

“Hey!” Gon whined, sitting adjacent to her. Killua pulled the chair back closest to the window and unpacked the pastry bag of a sandwich and a scone to dip in his coffee. As he ate, Gon tried fruitlessly to convince Bisky that humans were ‘okay.’ Bisky would have none of it.

“If you can’t lift a horse on your own, then why bother?” she said.

“I can lift a horse!” Gon declared.

Kurapika raised one finger. “One: You don’t know that, two: You haven’t been a werewolf for that long, which means three: You aren’t even human.”

“Killua can lift a horse!” Gon said, gesturing to him. 

“I’m a special case,” Killua said, though he wasn’t entirely sure whether or not he could lift a horse. Instincts told him no, but his competitive spirit resounded a wholehearted yes.

“The  _average_ human then,” Bisky said.

Gon slumped back in his chair, seething. Bisky beamed at him, pleased with herself. She clicked her heels on the tiles before crossing her legs at the ankles and saying, “That does it. It seems I’ve been allotted a decent human being. I knew I chose wisely.”

“Really?” Gon gasped, perking up instantly.

“She means me, not you,” Killua said in a droll. Gon withered a little. “You aren’t even  _human_ , Gon!”

“We come as a set,” Gon declared. 

“Excellent: One decent human, and a dimwitted infant alpha pup,” Bisky said.

“Yeah! I—wait,  _dimwitted?!_ ” he cried, throwing his hands down on the table so hard it shook. Killua swiped his coffee up before it could spill and took a massive gulp of it. “I’m  _not_ dimwitted.”

“You are,” Kurapika said. 

“You are,” Bisky said.

Gon pinned her with a scowl. “We’ve only known each other a few hours. Is it that obvious?”

Bisky half-shrugged and pointed a finger in Killua’s direction. “I’ve caught a few memories he has of you. That’s evidence enough.”

Gon’s mouth fell open. Killua stared at him from over the rim of his mug, ceasing the motion of taking a sip. Gon floundered for a moment before blurting out, “Delete them!”

Killua sputtered as Kurapika laughed and said, “He can’t  _delete them_ ! They’re memories—what’s he gonna do with them?”

“Feed material to Bisky to badger me with,” Gon muttered, pouting a little. And then, in the blink of an eye, he was fascinated. He straightened up and leant over, eyes wide and pinned on Bisky. She raised a curious eyebrow as he said, “Wait—so can you see us kissing?”

Killua flushed bright red as Bisky let out a shrill, startled laugh. “Gon!” he shouted. 

“Yeah, I saw it.”

“What did he think of it?” Gon asked.

“ _Gon!_ ” Killua was two seconds away from splashing scalding coffee all over that dimwitted alpha idiot.

Bisky pretended to think about it, scratching at her cheek. In the end, she said with vigor, “He liked it.”

Gon sat back in his seat, arms crossed, smug as ever. “ _Nice_ ,” he said, grinning at Bisky. He barely glanced in Killua’s direction before he was on his feet. “I gotta go pee. Be right back,” he said. 

Killua bit his tongue to keep from screaming at the top of his lungs. He stared after Gon before turning his vexation onto Bisky, who tapped her foot idly and hummed under her breath, taking in the sight of the café as if Killua wasn’t about to incinerate her with his eyes. 

Kurapika laughed a little and said, “Gon is interesting, huh?”

“ _Too_ interesting,” Killua muttered, jaw set tight. He glowered out the window, crumpling up the parchment paper from his sandwich and throwing it down on the table. “I’ll flay that idiot alive, I swear to God.”

“Easy now. He’s not even at his full potential,” Kurapika said, amusement spreading their grin wide. 

“‘Full potential’ my ass,” Killua said. “I don’t even want to know what that means.”

“I’m sure you don’t,” they said with a wink. 

“Now I remember why I like vampires,” Bisky said. 

Kurapika smiled at her and said, “Can’t say I’ve met enough faeries to say the same.”

“Ah, well, most faeries are two-faced little shits, so that’s probably for the better,” Bisky said with a dismissive wave of her hand. She pointed to Killua’s empty parchment paper and said, “Are we ready to go?”

“Oh, yeah, I’m just gonna get a refill,” he said. 

As Killua went to get another cup of coffee, Bisky shouldered his rucksack and Kurapika cleared their table. When Gon came back, they were all set to go and lingering at the door. Gon jogged across the café to meet up with them, acting like he wasn’t conspiring to ruin Killua’s life. Killua glared at him all the while and, when he was close enough, whispered his threat, “I won’t hesitate to gut you in the middle of the night.”

“I’ll be sure to sleep with one eye open then,” Gon said with a cheeky giggle. 

Killua flicked him in the forehead. Bisky called his name, so he handed his coffee to Gon and hurried ahead. 

Bisky joined him on the bike for the trip to Gon’s house. Kurapika went ahead of them with Gon pointing the way from the passenger’s seat, taking them through the downtown and up into the countryside of Whale Island. They roamed over rolling hills dotted with fresh spring flowers, and Killua felt the ease of just  _being_ there wash over him once more. The only difference was his anxieties over whether or not Gon would let their friendship continue no longer had an effect on him. He was passed that and all of the horrors of finding Mito-san’s house in a disarray. 

The house on the hill was just as vacant as before, though. It was in pristine shape thanks to Killua’s dark magic, though there was little he could do about the state of the flowerbeds. He cut the engine on his bike and Bisky leapt off of the back, tugging the helmet off her head as she went. 

“This way,” she declared, pointing off through the yard. She bounded forward, Killua’s rucksack still on her shoulders. Killua hurried after her, but not without stopping Gon to grab his cup of coffee. 

“I’ll come with you guys—”

“No, you two stay here,” Bisky ordered, her voice farther away down the hill. Killua turned on his heels to shrug at Gon, who stared after them listlessly as Kurapika came to join him at the edge of the gravel, watching Killua jog after Bisky, his coffee sloshing against the lid. 

 

* * *

 

Twelve hours had passed since Killua left the Freecs’ residence in a fluster. 

Each minute that passed ticked against Gon’s skin, and then, every second prickled at his skin, clawing to escape his chest and race after the obvious scent trail Killua and Bisky left behind. He distinctly felt like he could  _see it_ , though physically, it wasn’t there. It was a sharp, clear line down the field and through the tree line. 

Gon nibbled at his lip as he stared at the exact spot where they disappeared out of view. He couldn’t stand to sit inside, so he could be found sitting on the grass while Kurapika taped old newsprints on the windows inside. He could hear the crinkle of paper as if Kurapika was crumbling it up right next to his ear.

He scratched at his ear and caught the whine at the back of his throat. What was he  _doing_ there? Killua said it once and he wasn’t going to say it again without stomping all over Gon’s heart:  _Stop acting like this. He’s fine. He can handle himself_ .

_Oh, but he must be hungry. I should bring him food_ —

Gon shook his head resolutely.  _No, he’ll just get mad at me. It’s better for me to stay here and wait for him_ .

At dusk, the front door opened and Kurapika stepped out with their sunglasses secured and sunhat on. Gon spared a second to glance back at them, unable to resist frowning. 

“Waiting for your husband to return from war?” Kurapika said.

Gon huffed and muttered, “He’s not my husband,” as he picked at a blade of grass near his ankles. He split the blade in half as he added, “But… maybe I am.”

Kurapika sighed as they dropped down beside him. They brought their knees up and leant back, gloved fingers threading through the grass. “Can you hear them?” they asked. 

Gon shook his head.

“You should be able to,” they said. Gon glanced over at them, but he couldn’t see their eyes. Since they were in the shade, Kurapika risked raising their eyes to the sky, chin tipped up. “Alphas… they’ve been recorded as having an average hearing distance of a mile. Regular dogs can hear a quarter of a mile away, if that gives you any scope.”

“I know that,” Gon said, but he didn’t add the fact that he had completely forgotten it. The wolves that took Kite were headed by an alpha wolf. He and Killua had to take that into account when it came to planning an ambush. “The average werewolf can hear as far as a half mile.”

“Correct,” they said. 

“I guess I’m just… hesitant to listen that far,” he confessed. Had he known he was capable of it, Gon was certain he wouldn’t have tried. He was fine with simply smelling and seeing—he didn’t want to invade Killua and Bisky’s privacy with his epic, stellar eavesdropping ears. “I’m afraid of disappointing Killua. I have to respect his privacy.” _Even if I desperately want to chase after him_ , he thought, skin prickling. He clasped his hands over his legs as if to stop them from running off without him. 

He cleared his throat and asked, “Is it true that werewolves have mates?”

Kurapika laughed a little and shook their head. “As in… soulmates?”

“Yeah.”

“No more than vampires do,” they said. Gon turned to stare at them, and Kurapika grinned. “And by that I mean none at all. It’s just a legend. Perhaps at some point but not anymore.”

“Oh,” he hummed. He had read things about it online, back when he and Killua were just kids. He thought it was an interesting concept, and Killua had told him it was fluff and not to believe a word of it.  _He’d probably call me a sap now_ .

“But in terms of mates…” Kurapika said, sighing. Gon was attentive once more, turning to face them. He searched their face for some clue as Kurapika thought it over for another moment. Eventually, they said, “Werewolves do tend to have partners for life.”

He had read about that as well. He saw pictures of ancient marking rituals and wondered if the alpha who took Kite had a mate. The idea had made him queasy. He didn’t want to kill someone who loved another person, if that person also loved them. 

“Is it true that they mark their mates?” he asked. 

Kurapika laughed again, this time ending with a bit of a grimace. “Eh, no. Kind of gross. Feral werewolves mark, but not civilized ones. Since most partners tend to be humans, it’s kind of become…  _taboo_ to physically hurt your mate like that.”

“It hurts?”

“If you bit anyone’s neck with the purpose of scarring it,  _yeah_ , it’s gonna hurt. It’s not like when I bite Killua,” they said. 

Gon didn’t mean for his grimace to turn into a snarl. It was so alarming to him that he slapped a hand over his mouth and forced his lips to close over his aching gums as Kurapika turned their eyes back to the sky. 

“Sorry,” he said.

“I know you can’t help it. Thank you for trying, though. Trying not to rip my throat out,” they said. 

Gon turned pink at the ears. He ducked his face against his knees and groaned. Kurapika laughed and gave him a pat on the back. 

“It’s just your werewolf hormones acting up. You’ll get the hang of it soon. Then you’ll stop drooling whenever Killua’s around.”

“I don’t drool, do I?” he whined into his legs. 

Kurapika rubbed his back, leaning forward with a smile so that when Gon tipped his head to the side, he could see Kurapika sitting with him atop that hill. Gon rolled his eyes, trying not to let a smile overtake his face, but it did. He laughed at himself as he tipped towards Kurapika and tucked his head against their shoulder. 

He rubbed his head against their shoulder idly as he sought a good position. Kurapika cleared their throat, and Gon tipped his chin up to see Kurapika’s cheeks flushed pink. “Gon,” they said.

“Hm?” he hummed.

“You’re rubbing your scent on me.”

Far off in the woods, Bisky could hear a distant scream coming in the direction of Mito-san’s house.

 

* * *

 

Thir13en was closed all except for the bar, which tended to be a twenty-four-hour deal. The front door was locked when Hisoka flipped through his keyring before at last unlocking the door and swinging it open with a flourish. “Good  _morning_ , lovelies,” he sang, slamming the door shut behind him. His heels clicked across the tiled floor where trash and solo cups littered the edges, kicked aside from the masses just the previous night. 

A glass clinked in the distance as Hisoka laid his hands across the railing overlooking the dance floor. He spread his hands wide and leant over, peering down at the bar where Machi’s pink hair came into view behind the counter. Sat at the bar, however, was a different, but familiar face. 

Said face turned towards him. 

Hisoka grinned, knowing his guest could see it. “Well, if it isn’t my favorite hunter,” he drawled. 

“Might I remind you that  _you_ called  _me_ ,” the man said, setting his drink down. 

Hisoka strode down the steps and hopped in the direction of the bar. Machi was pouring two shots so that when Hisoka came near, he took one and downed it instantly. “What’s Chrollo doing here? I woke up half past five in the morning to him knocking on our door,” Machi said. “And what happened with that dark magic human?”

“Ah, had a bit of fun,” Hisoka said. He leant a hand against the bar, fully facing his guest.  _Chrollo Lucilfer_ —by God, if he wasn’t the most handsome piece of ass Hisoka ever saw around Yorknew and beyond. Hisoka didn’t bother resisting the urge to lick his lips as Chrollo stared idly at him and then drifted his gaze over to Machi. 

“Dark magic human?” Chrollo commented.

“Yes. White-haired little devil. Member of the Zoldyck family. I’m surprised you never saw it before,” Machi said, once again directing her irritation towards Hisoka. 

Hisoka smiled at her and said, “No doubt Illumi covered him up. Illumi is smart enough to know just how tantalizing my dear Killua is.”

“Killua Zoldyck…” Chrollo hummed, clicking a sharp nail against the edge of the class. “Is he why I’m here? I thought you enjoyed the chase yourself.”

_As if I would give Killua to Chrollo_ , he thought behind his soft smile and lidded eyes. “As much as I know you do. Which is why I felt it pertinent to inform you: I have a new pet for you,” he said. 

Chrollo’s stoic expression didn’t shift. He lifted his eyes from his drink as he put it to his soft,  _delectable_ lips. Hisoka watched the motion of bourbon slipping down Chrollo’s throat before continuing. “It’s a dhampir. Their name is Kurapika.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You would not believe how long I sat there thinking to myself, "Would Hisoka used the proper pronouns for Kurapika? Yes, yes he would." like I was contemplating a life or death equation on a chalkboard in the late sixties in preparation for the first moon landing. 
> 
> Me, figuring out if Hisoka cares enough:  
> 


	20. 20 x friendship bracelets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gon, we're in sleeping beauty, just kiss the damn idiot to wake him up it's fine that's how this works.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TAKE THIS 7K CHAPTER AS MY APOLOGY FOR DISAPPEARING THE PAST TWO DAYS

Gon started to pace as the twenty-four hour mark Bisky estimated drew to an end. He blamed it on his empty stomach, which had started to growl in protest as he matted the grass down beneath his feet. He should have grabbed something to eat from in town, before they came back to the house. His feet ached to run, to chase—maybe he could find something to eat in the woods—

_No, that went horribly last time. That was a last-ditch attempt_ , he told himself. When he had lost all sense of control and turned, deranged, onto the forest, he did so with every intent of slaughtering the first animal he came across. He didn’t want to go that far ever again.

But he couldn’t leave to go into town, because what if Killua came back? 

The window behind him creaked. He jumped, hair on end, only to settle when he realized that Kurapika was just opening the kitchen window and leaning out to say, “I can hear your stomach growling from inside.”

“I’m fine,” he said, but it came out rough around the edges and sounding more like the motor of a car. He cleared his throat, took a deep breath, and insisted, “I’m  _fine_ .”

Kurapika said nothing. They merely stared at him, one arm held out to keep the window open. Gon turned away in a huff, staring at the tree line. A low whine escaped him when he meant to sigh.  _Curses_ .

“I can go into town to get you something to eat. We should do that before the stores start closing,” Kurapika said. 

He knew they were right, but that didn’t mean he  _liked it_ . “I can’t leave,” he stressed. 

“I’ll just go. You stay here,” Kurapika offered. 

“But—”

“Gon, I’m serious. You need to eat,” they said. Gon rubbed his hands over his face and said nothing. It was as much of a surrender as Kurapika was going to get. They shut the window and started through the house and out the front door. Before getting in their car, they called out, “I’ll be back in half an hour, maybe later!”

“Okay!” Gon shouted back. Once the car was out on the road, Gon resumed his pacing. 

Kurapika’s headlights faded off into the distance, glowing orange through the canopy far down the road. Gon saw it as he paced south, and then north, and back again. The stars were glimmering on the ocean now and he counted them to keep from focusing on far-off rustles in the foliage. He could feel his ears itching, and he knew the ache in his jaw was from a blend of stinging gums and the prelude to a pair of wolf ears. He clasped his hands over his ears to stop himself from straining to hear Killua, and also to keep his human ears  _right where they were_ .

Through it, though, he heard distinct footsteps at the far end of the field, crushing dead leaves in their path. 

Gon stilled, eyes training on the spot where Killua and Bisky had disappeared. He watched as the underbrush gave way to a figure—a  _human_ figure—accompanied by the small faerie girl. Gon jumped into motion, leaping down the field and hitting the ground at a full-out sprint. 

As he came near, he recognized Killua’s head of white hair. His heart leapt into his throat as he came upon the image of Killua slumped against Bisky, who was carrying his entire weight with one of Killua’s arms around her shoulders. 

“Killua!” Gon shouted, and Killua barely raised his head at the sound. Gon sprinted faster, legs pumping, feet tearing through the grass at a speed he’d never reached before. He all but toppled into them, grasping at Killua’s shoulders and holding Bisky up to keep them all from falling. His feet skidded through the grass as Killua grabbed hold of his arm.

Bisky ducked out of Killua’s grasp and helped him lean into Gon. “He needs to recharge,” she said. 

Gon blinked.  _That’s a light magic thing_ , he thought, staring at Bisky. She offered a faint smile as if to say,  _Yes, we did it_ . 

Killua’s hair tickled his neck. He shivered at the sensation as Killua dropped his head onto Gon’s shoulder, his legs giving out. Gon grappled to hold him up. 

“I’ll be back,” Bisky promised just a split second before she turned to ash in the wind. The particles spun into tendrils of smoke and drifted away. 

Killua’s entire weight dropped an instant later. Gon twisted, Killua’s head lolling on his shoulder as he hooked Killua’s arms around his neck. Bending down, he hoisted Killua’s knees up against his hips and shouldered his friend on his back. 

Gon marched back up to the house with the heat of Killua’s chest against his back, the soft skin of Killua’s cheek against his neck. He tightened his grip on Killua’s legs as he marched up to the front door and opened it, nudging it aside with his foot and backing in. 

Gon all but ran up the stairs with Killua, his breath hardly gone and energy thrumming in his veins.His bedroom door was still wide open from the hasty way he and Killua had first left Whale Island. He slipped inside and sat on the edge of the bed so that he could gradually lay Killua down. He held Killua by the wrists, tugging his arms off of Gon’s shoulders, before easing Killua’s head onto the pillows. 

Gon felt something in his chest loosen once again at the sight of Killua sleeping, unaware of Gon’s eyes scouring his features. Gon moved down to the floor, his knees slanted on the carpet as he tucked his head against the sheets a few feet from Killua’s face. His eyes traveled across Killua’s quiet countenance, enhanced now that Gon had long minutes to study the changes since they were children.

The shape of Killua’s face was narrower, more angular, than it had several years prior. Puberty had pronounced his jawline and Adam’s apple, which Gon brought his finger to and hesitated over. He dropped his hand to the sheets in front of Killua’s chin, feeling the hot breath leaving Killua’s lips. He reached up and traced his thumb along the defined edge of Killua’s cheekbone, where he could feel the bone just beneath Killua’s soft skin. 

Gon caught himself before his thumb could travel to the corner of Killua’s mouth. Cheeks flushed, Gon scrambled away from the bed and made himself busy with the blankets stashed in his closet. He unearthed his old pillows and sheets and transferred them to the bed where Killua rested. The minutes passed until eventually, Killua existed as nothing more than a cocoon in which Gon climbed nimbly into. The house was dark and empty, and he could hear the ocean wind breathing through the house as he nestled in as far as his shoulders, and then his nose, huddled deep within the overwhelming makeshift sleeping bag. 

He could feel Killua’s hand against his back as he twisted around to face Killua. He was warm all over, his mind turning fuzzy around the edges as sleep dragged a yawn from his mouth. He hugged his arms around Killua, reveling in the soft texture of Killua’s hair against his chin. 

His eyes gradually closed, each blink more difficult to open from than the last. His empty stomach became a distant memory in comparison to how content he felt being bundled up in a swath of blankets with Killua.

 

* * *

 

Gon slept through the morning and into the late afternoon. Killua, still wrapped in his arms, hadn’t moved and remains still aside from the rise and fall of his chest. When the sun streamed through the bedroom window, Gon glanced back at it from over his shoulder. He could sense that the silence stretched through the house. When he went back to nuzzling Killua’s hair, his chest began to ache with anxiety, and his empty stomach had begun to gnaw at the back of his throat. His mouth tasted like iron where his fangs and pierced through his gums. Overnight he had lost control of his ears, which were now flattened to the back of his head, distress imparting a whine from his throat. 

Kurapika wasn’t in the house. They weren’t outside, or anywhere  _near_ the property.

Gon couldn’t move, not without disrupting Killua. The conflict inside of him raged—he  _wanted_ to go check on Kurapika, but at the same time, he wanted just as much to stay with Killua. He got as far as raising up onto his elbows, preparing to leave, but one look at Killua had him hunkering down once more. 

 

* * *

 

The clock on the wall said six in the evening. Killua hadn’t moved an inch. The sun was still out when Gon heard a car door slam out in front of the house. Correction: car  _doors_ . It wasn’t Kurapika. 

It didn’t take long for the visitors to make their way up to the second floor where Gon’s bedroom was, and where they could sense Gon and Killua through the open bedroom door. 

Gon was startled by the realization that the scent in his nose was connected to a person, and that that person was  _Knuckle_ . Not only Knuckle, but Leorio as well. He sat up a little in the bed, his ears down, watching as the shadows from the hallway drew into the room and connected to the shape of Knuckle leaning in. 

Knuckle turned on the light, and as Gon’s eyes adjusted, Leorio sighed. “You leave him for a day and he doesn’t eat a thing,” Leorio said, thumping Knuckle on the shoulder.

“What’re you guys doing here?” Gon said. “I thought…?”

“The entire pack’s here,” Knuckle said, stepping into the room. He put his hands on his hips and said, “Might as well call it a  _vacation_ , second one in two weeks thanks to you.”

Gon would have smiled, but he felt weak and agitated. He felt nauseous despite not having a thing in his stomach.

“Where’s Kurapika?” Leorio asked. “And what’s up with Killua?”

A low whine escaped Gon. He clutched his hands around the blankets, his sharpened claws cutting between the knitted yarn. He pulled the blanket up over his face so they couldn’t see him as he said, “I don’t know where Kurapika is. They left last night to get me food and they never came back. I’ve tried to leave to get them, but—”

“You can’t leave Killua,” Knuckle sighed. Gon nodded, peering up with the blanket against his cheeks, his eyes glassy. Knuckle ran a hand through his hair and sighed. “I get it. So you think something might have happened?”

Gon wasn’t sure why, but he sensed that something  _terrible_ had happened to Kurapika. He felt it like a rock sitting in his ribcage, crushing his organs. The fact that Knuckle knew exactly how Gon felt made him wonder if Knuckle had experienced this sensation before. “Yeah, something bad,” Gon agreed. 

“Like what?” Leorio said, sharply. Gon flinched as Leorio said, “How long has it been since you’ve seen them? Do you know where they went?”

“Last night, just before the shops in town were supposed to close,” Gon said, shaking his head. “I don’t know. There’s only one butcher in town—”

“We’ll start there,” Knuckle said before Leorio could scream some more. “Leorio.”

“On it,” he said, and vanished from the room. 

With Leorio gone, Knuckle approached the bed. Gon clutched tighter to the blankets, the growl in his chest inching him closer and closer to throwing up. Knuckle got down on his knees beside the bed, his eye level at Gon’s shoulders. Somehow, Gon managed to control his temper enough for Knuckle to reach a hand up to Gon’s hair. 

Knuckle asked, “Is Killua recharging?”

Gon nodded.

“He’ll be fine here without you, Gon. I know you want to help Kurapika. Killua will understand.”

Gon knew what Knuckle was saying was true. The rational part of him knew that Killua would want him out there searching for Kurapika. He wondered, then, if Knuckle understood the reason why Gon couldn’t make himself leave the bed when he didn’t understand it himself. It hurt him so much to stay as much as it did to leave that he wound up freezing, shoulders tense, ears flattened down once more. 

He shut his eyes and tried to move, but couldn’t. He got as far as touching his toes to the edge of the bed, but even that much was a physical struggle. He was sweating before he knew it. 

He opened his eyes, gasping as if he had just run a mile. He shook his head quickly, tucking his knees up beneath his chin and saying, “I can’t do it. Can you just… drag me off of the bed?”

Knuckle’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean you can’t do it?”

“I physically  _can’t do it_ ,” Gon insisted. “I need you to carry me.”

Knuckle sighed. “Fine, whatever. Let’s just do this.”

Knuckle stood up and reached over to grab Gon around the shoulders. The instant his skin came in contact with Gon’s shirt, Gon started snarling. 

Knuckle stepped back, alarmed. Gon let out a startled squeak, blinking fast. The momentary, violent hostility was gone as quickly as it came. Knuckle had his hands up and as he let out a deep breath, he said, “Let’s try that again.”

Gon nodded. “Okay, I’m ready. I won’t growl this time.”

Gon did, in fact, growl the second time. It was as though he had transformed into a tiny, angry chihuahua with a penchant for murder. The longer Knuckle held onto him, the more he started hissing and spitting and writhing like an exorcist victim, foaming at the mouth. Gon, the devil incarnate, was being dragged over the threshold of a church by Knuckle—the threshold being the bed, and the church being the world beyond Killua’s general vicinity. 

They didn’t make it more than two inches before Gon bit Knuckle in the shoulder. 

“Yikes! Buddy, calm down!” Knuckle screamed, throwing himself back. 

Gon flew back into the present with a sneeze and an apology. “I’m fine! I’m fine, just try it again, maybe go for my leg or something.”

Knuckle stared at him in horror before at last decided that this was how it was going to be. He laced his fingers together and cracked them before shaking them out and declaring, “Okay. This is it, this is the last shot.”

“I’ll behave,” Gon promised.

Seven minutes and a lot of screaming later, Gon and Knuckle emerged through the front door. Morel stood beside the car with his arms crossed, his hip against the hood, a lollypop in his mouth. When those two alpha idiots arrived, Morel plucked the lollypop out and raised an eyebrow at Knuckle, whose skin was marred with red scratches across his cheeks, forehead, neck, and arms. 

Gon put his head down and strode to the backseat. Once the door slammed shut, Knuckle sighed in front of Morel. Morel pointed towards the house with his lollypop and said, “What the hell happened to you two?”

“You probably know better than I do,” Knuckle confessed. “Let’s get moving.”

Meanwhile, as Gon, Knuckle, and Morel chased after the rest of the pack, Kurapika was far from where they expected to be that day or the night prior. Rewinding several hours before the sun set and rose, Kurapika was accepting a bag of sliced sausages and ribs from the local butcher. The florescent light in the marketplace, coupled with the smell of raw meat, already felt a bit eerie to them. Kurapika twisted the plastic baggie into a knot as they stopped at one of the small tables at the store window, just below the neon OPEN sign as the store owner flicked the switch to CLOSED. 

“Thanks for staying open for me,” Kurapika said to the man. 

“Not a problem,” the guy said, holding the door open for them. Kurapika stepped out into the chilly night air and waved to the man. “Get home safe now.”

“I will, thank you,” they said with a smile. 

Kurapika strode down the brick sidewalk with the plastic baggie swinging in their hand. They fished their keys out of their pocket before tucking a strand of hair behind their ear, slowing at the driver’s side of their car. 

They could hear the ocean as the current rolled in from the quiet docks. The tungsten lamp posts shed orange light over the hood of the black car as Kurapika ducked inside and slammed the door shut at the same exact time the passenger door closed. 

Kurapika looked up at the shadow that now sat in the passenger’s seat. 

Kurapika would have kept staring had their skin not alerted them to the acidic heat rippling against the flesh of their arm. They hadn’t felt that level of toxicity so close up in years, but the intention of it had Kurapika stilling rather than retracting. The silver dagger glinted in the tungsten street light, hovering with the blade against the length of Kurapika’s bicep. One wrong move, and the man would pierce their forearm to the center console without a second thought. 

The man shifted. Kurapika tensed as the blade came dangerously close to skimming their skin. The metal itself wasn’t  _sharp_ , necessarily. It would by no means cut through bone or have an easy time sliding into Kurapika’s muscles, but the silver…

That was only used on dhampirs.

_I can’t think of any creature that could sniff me out_ , Kurapika thought, eyes scanning the intruder’s face. Silver was a myth for vampires—a vampire’s immune system prevented allergies as severe as a dhampir’s repulsion against silver. The only allergy vampires still had involved sun exposure, which also passed down to dhampirs. Unfortunately.

The man was wearing a beanie that tugged over his forehead and covered his hair. The leather jacket collars framed the edge of his sharpened jawline and the pale, pallid skin that was suitable for a vampire if Kurapika couldn’t already tell what he was. 

Truthfully, Kurapika wasn’t sure what to make of the man, let alone what he was. Vampire wasn’t on the list, nor was dhampir. 

“Put the windows up and drive,” the man ordered. 

Kurapika put a hand to the wheel and drew the other, cautiously, across the console to the gearstick. The skin on their bicep sizzled through the fabric of their shirt, stinging like a terrible sunburn. The blade didn’t shift, so Kurapika made a point not to move any more than necessary from that position as they put the car in drive and pulled out onto the road. 

“Turn right,” the man said. 

Kurapika glanced at him out of the corner of their eyes as they made the turn. The man met his gaze, not having moved from his position of watching Kurapika with the silver blade in the air. He gave directions without looking, without moving, until he at last ordered Kurapika to park.

They were on the other side of the town. The town itself wasn’t terribly large—a drive across it took twenty minutes at most, but it put Kurapika twenty minutes farther from Gon’s house. It was over the mile mark of Gon’s hearing range, and with the windows closed, Kurapika’s scent trail would be almost null and void. Gon didn’t know their car well enough to scent the tire tracks or the exhaust without muddling it with the rest of the town commotion. 

_He’ll have to pull back to exit the car. I’ll make my escape then_ , Kurapika thought as they put the car in park. The man leant over and removed the cars from the ignition before Kurapika could reach for it. Reaching for it would mean leaning into the blade, anyway. 

The man let go of the blade. Kurapika tensed, their chest heavy with panic. The knife never moved. 

“Get out of the car,” he ordered, stepping out from the passenger’s side. Kurapika was stuck staring at the blade hovering over their arm.  _Dark magic—no, that isn’t right. Telekinesis_ is _dark magic, but that could apply to other beings and magic users_ , they thought, the panic fading into a dull, numb sensation as the guy insisted again for Kurapika to exit the car. 

When Kurapika moved, the blade moved with them. They could feel it based on the ripple it caused across their flesh as the blade twirled idly in the air and came to settle at the small of their back. Kurapika shut the driver’s door and the moment he did, the man cast a hand across the hood of the car. A trail of white smeared across the hood, like the paint job was temperature-sensitive. Soon, the white seeped and spread like spilled wine, covering the black in a sheer, pale coat. 

“Follow me,” the man ordered. The threat was implicit in the knife at Kurapika’s back, so they followed, the heat never leaving their skin through the fabric of their coat. 

The man’s silver eyes lingered on Kurapika as they stepped onto the sidewalk and came to stand alongside him. Kurapika felt the human urge to swallow—that was what people did when they were nervous, right? Even breathing felt oddly taxing. In that moment, Kurapika never felt so much like a vampire, unsure whether or not blinking, breathing, or swallowing was appropriate for the situation. 

So Kurapika stood like a statue and awaited orders. 

Whale Island was a popular destination for travelers and therefore warranted a plethora of hostels and hotels. Kurapika followed the man to one such hotel, their mind reeling through what could possibly explain the knife at their back, the man’s informant, and the reason for Kurapika still being alive. If this man was anything like the ones who hunted dhampirs, Kurapika expected to sense ghoulish attributes. The silver eyes ended Kurapika’s ghoul theory, though. 

_Grey eyes, grey eyes_ … they thought as they stood at the man’s shoulder in the elevator, facing the door as it slid closed. The mirror behind them reflected the silver blade slotted between Kurapika’s shoulder blades, and the worn, dusty patch ironed onto the man’s leather jacket. Kurapika was too wary of the knife to consider taking a closer look at the symbol. 

When the door pinged and slid open, the man said, “Room 530, on your left.”

Kurapika took a cautious step out of the elevator. They could feel their barely-beating heart throbbing in their chest, slow and heavy and seeping with black molasses that oozed across their very being, pooling and condensing in their burning back. Their jacket started to feel slick with moisture as they walked, and Kurapika wondered if the blisters were already bleeding.

The hotel room door came into view. Kurapika stopped in front of it, and despite all of their self-control, couldn’t hold back the shivers that coursed through them as the man unlocked the door and pushed it open. 

The man stepped aside and waited until Kurapika was past the threshold. The door shut and locked behind them. 

The man passed Kurapika, lifting two fingers in the air as he went. “No screaming, no touching,” he said. 

“The first was implied,” Kurapika said. “The second, I prefer as well.”

“That suffices. It’s more for your sake than it is mine,” he said. 

The room appeared to be freshly checked into. There were mints on the pillows and a welcome tray set on the bed comforter. In the corner sat a table for two, which the man took a seat at and gestured for Kurapika to join him.

Kurapika hesitated beside the vacant television screen. The room was dark without the lights on, but Kurapika’s vampiric vision didn’t need a spec of light to see that this man was hardly human, but entirely too human to trust. 

Vampire hunters were often human, as they were prey against vampires. Hunters sought to surpass them in the food chain—to eliminate a “threat”, so to speak—in order to maintain control and safety in their vast numbers. Vampires may have been a minority compared to humans, but the carnage they caused in the past warranted the hatred. The repulsion people felt against what kept vampires alive was justified, even Kurapika could see that. Gon’s reaction to Killua’s indifference was enough proof. 

It was because of this that Kurapika hesitated to approach the man where he sat at the edge of the streetlight filtering through the hotel window. 

“This isn’t a hate crime,” the man answered Kurapika’s sickening question.

“Then what is it.”

The man reached forward to the center of the table. A shallow, wooden box sat there, and when the man lifted the lid, Kurapika became disoriented when they didn’t see a gun or weapons of any kind. 

“This is a game,” he said. 

Kurapika was so startled by the chessboard that they almost didn’t move. With their defenses down, they managed a few slow steps to claim the opposite chair. The raw skin on their back stretched and seeped red as they sat down across from the man, pointedly leaning away from the back of the chair. 

“I take it… we’re wagering something,” Kurapika said as the man lifted a velvet pouch from one of the board’s compartments. He tossed the baggie to Kurapika, who caught it and clutched their fingers around the wooden pieces inside. 

“Should you win, you’ll have my respect and we may never speak again.”

“That doesn’t guarantee I leave here alive.”

“Is that what you want?”

“Betting a life makes for stronger motivation. Frankly, I don’t care for your respect,” they said.

The man looked up from the velvet pouch in the chessboard cubby. Kurapika’s eyes never left the man’s face, gripping the pouch so tightly their hands shook. When the man resumed motion, it was with a small, minute smile. “If I win, I will kill you. Your chances at survival are greatest if you win. This is the best offer I can give you.”

“I need more incentive.”

“Are you saying that your life isn’t enough of one?”

Kurapika closed their eyes with an annoyed sigh. They loosened the drawstrings on the pouch and spilled the contents on the table before opening their eyes once more. “I’m saying that I’d like more answers.”

“That can be arranged,” the man said. 

Kurapika’s chess pieces colored the board with red. The tiles were merely different hues of wood—stained and unstained—and the man’s dotted black across the far edge of the board. Kurapika folded up the velvet pouch and stuck it in the board compartment. When the pieces were assembled, the man gestured to Kurapika to begin. 

Kurapika lifted a pawn and took it two steps forward. 

“Ask me anything,” the man said. 

“Your name.”

The man moved a pawn and said, “Chrollo Lucilfer.” 

_Lucilfer_ , Kurapika thought as they studied the board. As Kurapika mulled over the name, it appeared as though they were contemplating terribly hard on their next move. Chrollo Lucilfer watched with an impassive expression until Kurapika moved their next piece.  _Sounds like Lucifer to me_ , they decided.  _A demon of some kind, perhaps? I do get the sense that the part of him that isn’t human is just underneath the surface_ .

Kurapika studied Chrollo’s face, knowing that it was their turn for another question as the man moved a piece forward. Chrollo’s complexion was almost  _eerily_ perfect. His skin was smooth like plastic and his sparkling eyes were large and lined with lush eyelashes. He didn’t require light to see in the dark, so why, then, did it feel like Chrollo was wearing the skin of a human and not quite  _living in it?_

“Do you use magic?” Kurapika asked as they took their turn.

“A kind.”

“What kind?”

“Species specific.”

Kurapika chewed on their lip as they considered this. This was a game, and after spending the entire ride wondering, it felt like cheating to be given the answer so simply. They didn’t want to ask what Chrollo was, and it seemed Chrollo knew this. 

Chrollo reached across the table to lay his knight down. Kurapika passed several exchanges without saying a word. Each move tugged at the raw skin on their back, and the moisture from it stuck their jacket to their skin. It pulled and peeled, flaying open skin again and again as Kurapika took Chrollo’s rook and placed it on the side. Three of their pawns and one of their own rooks were on Chrollo’s side. 

Kurapika’s hands shook as they lifted up their knight. The polished, wooden piece was coated in a red ink and, as they focused more intently on it, they realized why it seemed familiar. “My mother had a set like this,” they said. “With authentic red ink. Before pieces were white.”

“They only had red ink at the time to differentiate the colors. Black and red were the most common colors,” Chrollo explained. 

Kurapika laid the piece down, and it wobbled under their unsteady fingers. They sucked in a deep breath—the smell of the freshly washed sheets and polished surfaces was gone and replaced with the aroma of vampiric bodily fluids. It wasn’t quite blood, nor was it oil. It was black and somewhere in between, and it now soaked the back of Kurapika’s shirt. Even if they attempted an escape, they were certain they wouldn’t make it far before the agony incapacitated them. 

“I take it you existed in that era,” they whispered, breath gone. Exercising the muscles in their chest, inflating their lungs, deflating them—it all stung. Kurapika only ever had to breathe to speak. Theoretically speaking, a vampire could go an entire lifetime without having to breathe, but in doing so, they would never know the sound of their own voice. 

“Yes.”

“Have you existed for all of the eras?”

Chrollo blinked down at the chessboard. Kurapika lifted their eyes to meet his, a shudder rolling up their spine. Being in the presence of ancient beings always unnerved them. Kurapika never planned on living past the age of one hundred because of their own sense of morality. Perhaps one day they would feel qualified to deserve such a long life. It came with wisdom, a moral purpose. For now, Kurapika didn’t have one, so they wouldn’t let themself plague the earth any longer than humans do. 

But being in the presence of ancient beings… it reminded Kurapika of their own humanity. Kurapika was far more human than Chrollo, or any ancient vampire, ever would hope to be. 

Chrollo took up his bishop and knocked down Kurapika’s knight. He swapped the two and laid the red piece alongside all of the others accumulating on the table surface. “I have existed for all of the eras, in a sense,” he answered. 

“You are a demon then,” Kurapika decided. The bishop now sat in path of Kurapika’s last remaining rook. They claimed the bishop, but in moving the bishop off of the board, it slipped from their spasming fingers. They cursed as it tipped onto the board and knocked down the red queen where they had moved it to the outskirts of the carnage. 

Kurapika picked up the bishop and moved it before going back for the queen. When they did, Chrollo had already set it back into place.

Their hands brushed. 

Kurapika leapt back so violently, an angry streak of sheer, white-hot agony ripped up their spine as the chair flew back. Spitting out curses, Kurapika slumped against the television stand, their hand slipping. The instant they fell, an invisible force cushioned them. 

Kurapika’s eyes were mere inches from the carpet before they were being reeled back to their feet. Their boots left the carpet, the nearly tangible force of Chrollo’s magic suspending them in the air. 

Their hand still tingled from the brush against Chrollo’s skin. It was enough to answer the question of what sort of demon Chrollo was, and how he was ever capable of existing in this dimension. The hot, visceral sensation of  _Chrollo_ snaked its way across every fiber of Kurapika’s being before Chrollo ever even made it into their view. 

Kurapika couldn’t meet Chrollo’s eyes without wondering if the human in them would be able to resist.  _Of course not_ , Kurapika rationalized, the thread of their sanity strung tight and fraying. 

“S-So you target dhampirs b-because they can resist it? Is that it?” Kurapika hissed, eyes on the ceiling. 

Chrollo’s footsteps stilled in front of Kurapika. They could catch the edge of Chrollo’s beanie in their view, and then, as he reached up to pull it off so Kurapika could see the symbol. It was enough to pull Kurapika’s attention back down to Chrollo and realize that sight wouldn’t affect them the way touch would.

For a human, it would be a different story.

“No,” Chrollo said. “I target dhampirs because they have the  _potential_ to. I have yet to find one who can.”

“Why try at all?” they said. The solid ground beneath their feet felt off-kilter then as Kurapika touched down again. The agony, though, brought them back down to the chair, panting. “Why should you care at all about humans?”

Chrollo studied Kurapika for a moment. His had his hands before him, rubbing at the side of his palm where Kurapika had brushed up against him. At last, Chrollo blinked his wide, eerie eyes and said, “I don’t care. I’m simply interested. Let’s continue.”

He joined Kurapika at the table once more. As he did, Kurapika resisted the urge to stay put, hunched over their knees, where the pain was less noticeable. Eventually, though, they returned to the chessboard.

“I have lived in the shadows of mankind for millennia,” Chrollo said. Kurapika stared up at him. “I’ve observed from the outskirts, but never once… have I had an actual conversation with a human. Dhampirs are as close as I’ve come to them, and the contact can be resisted, but—”

“They all fall prey,” Kurapika finished. 

Chrollo rubbed a hand over his mouth as he leant against the edge of the table. Kurapika hesitated to make the next move. Chrollo had their queen exposed, but it would take two plays to attack—enough time for Kurapika to intercept, but at the risk of their rook and final pawn.

“Perhaps it’s a voluntary fall,” they offered, giving up their pawn.

“Not for noble causes. Humans seem to fall for those,” he commented. 

Kurapika shrugged. “Perhaps if you had a chat with one, you’d see that we fall for any reason we believe in. It must be frustrating living side-by-side with a society that is constantly in a downward spiral.”

“It makes you wonder ‘why bother’,” he said. Kurapika’s queen was open, and before Chrollo’s descent, Kurapika seized the black queen with their remaining bishop.

Chrollo didn’t seem at all surprised nor pleased by Kurapika’s win. In fact, he appeared no different as he sat studying Kurapika from across the table. Without his hat, Kurapika realized that the patch on the back of his leather jacket matched the insignia on his forehead. 

It wasn’t a cross, nor was it a Petrine Cross. It was somewhere in between, as were all incubus and succubus demons. They were solely indifferent beasts. Kurapika realized then that it would have been pointless to fight back, and they lost the game. There were no records of humans or otherwise killing an incubus, nor any recorded successful exorcisms of them. 

Chrollo feigned a shallow bow and said, “My respect is yours.”

Kurapika was shaking still from the pain, but anger seeped into their words as they said, “Neither of us tried at all.”

“That’s more telling of you than it is of me,” he said. 

Kurapika shut their mouth.  _Well, that’s certainly an introspective existential crisis to worry about on another day_ , they mused as Chrollo flicked a finger up. The heat from the blade coursed up Kurapika’s spine before vanishing and leaving behind a trail of raw, flayed flesh in its wake. They watched the moonlight glint off of it as Chrollo reached for it and sheathed it. 

“Why use a knife at all?” they asked. 

“Incubi are rare enough that not all dhampir know they are beyond immortality,” he said. “It also saves the hassle. I like to avoid small talk.”

“Explains why you aren’t picking up dhampirs at bars,” Kurapika said. Chrollo smiled, and it looked plastic on his otherworldly complexion. “Small talk isn’t my forte as it is. I’m not planning on living in the next seventy-five years, so if you’re planning on a rematch—”

“My deal is set in stone.” _That we’d never have to see each other again_ .

Kurapika sighed, shaking with the effort. It seemed like the socially appropriate thing to do at the time, but their back regretted it. They clutched at the edge of the armrest as they said, “Then in that case, reset the board. If this is our last conversation, at least put some effort into beating me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Dancing obnoxiously whilst clapping my hands and singing off-tune* If I... was a smut writer, this. would be. SMUT!
> 
> Also?? all that shit about vampires we learned this chapter? flew out of my ass. I'm surprised it was coherent at all. Like?? The whole BREATHING THING?? Love that 10/10. Would a vampiric monk who took a vow of silence ever need to breathe????? Now you have the answer.
> 
> If I have another CRISIS and need to postpone an update, I'll throw it on [my Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/girlskylark).


	21. 21 x friendship bracelets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How many werewolves does it take to screw in a lightbulb.

**“I** s it true then that you spend most of your time with werewolves?” Chrollo inquired as dusk caused the horizon to blush. 

Kurapika glanced up at him from where they had been hunched over their knees, studying the board. Their back was merely stiff and itchy now as it healed. Were Kurapika more human, they might have had a larger grudge on the scars. Kurapika would see no scar, no mark of their time together where the blade had flayed open their back. They didn’t see a reason to begrudge Chrollo Lucilfer.

Kurapika opened their mouth and nothing came out aside from a look of shock.

“My sense of smell is no better than that of a human’s,” Chrollo reassured. 

“Oh.” They relaxed a touch, only to tense at what this knowledge meant. “Then how do you know?”

“Answer my question first, and we’ll see. Check.”

Kurapika tapped a finger against the edge of the tabletop. They didn’t have a knife threatening them now, but the rules of the game warranted Chrollo’s insistence. Kurapika wasn’t playing fair now that the questions could go both ways.

“Yes. I’m in a pack with a werewolf,” they said, moving their queen out of range and behind the protective barrier of a rook.

Chrollo seized their rook and said, “Check. For curiosity’s sake, I’d like to refrain from answering your question. It’s no better than telling you outright what I am.”

Kurapika gritted their teeth. Damn him, already taking note of Kurapika’s systematic, noble mind. Piecing together Chrollo’s story was more fun than listening to exposition of it. They realized that they could handle not understanding how Chrollo came to Whale Island with the intention of intercepting Kurapika. 

“Fine then. I’ll ask a different question,” they agreed. “How do werewolves react to you?”

“Werewolves are more human. Dhampir are, by contrast, less than one-quarter human. Were-creatures are entirely half-human, half-creature.”

“I suppose that makes sense,” Kurapika hummed. “I’ve noticed that werewolves act more human than humans even do. Their dynamics are very surface-level.”

“Honest creatures, for good or for worse,” Chrollo agreed. “Check, once again.”

“Damn,” Kurapika sighed. They had exhausted all of their remaining pieces, leaving the queen in the path of Chrollo’s few remaining pawns. They sat back in the chair, the pressure against the backrest temporarily soothing the itchiness on their flesh. They glanced at the window and, likewise, Chrollo followed the gaze. “Do incubus digest food?”

“We can ingest liquids.”

“It’s unfortunate that you’ve never gotten drunk with a human before. They’re amusing,” Kurapika said, laughing at the memory of Gon biting Killua at Thir13en. “I have only gotten drunk once.”

“How so?”

“Griffin eggs,” they answered. “So technically high, but either way it fucked me up.”

“Then we should find a griffin egg,” he said. 

Kurapika shook their head. “They’re extremely rare.”

“Incubus are extremely rare, so I beg to differ. I might know someone who has one,” he said. 

Kurapika couldn’t deny the excitement that flared through them as Chrollo got up to fetch his phone. Griffin eggs were something that gave Kurapika a hint as to what Chrollo felt like, being around humans. Kurapika wasn’t ancient, by any means, but being a part of Leorio and Knuckles’ shenanigans led to nights of taking care of drunken werewolves in club bathrooms, and babysitting pups trying to take their sixth shot of the night. For once, Kurapika didn’t want to be a designated driver. Werewolves kept going back to drugs and alcohol, so what was the big deal? 

The griffin gave Kurapika a glimpse of that. 

Chrollo put the phone to his ear and, after a moment, someone picked up on the other end of the line. Kurapika stilled at the voice that answered—feminine, dry, repulsed to be talking.  _That sounds like that bitchy ghoul that follows Hisoka around_ , Kurapika thought, eyes wide.  _Hisoka could be the informant. But how could he possibly have known what I was?_

It just gave Kurapika more questions than answers knowing that it was Hisoka. 

“Do you have any griffin eggs, by chance?” Chrollo asked, glancing out the window as Machi muttered something incoherent into his ear. “Shit,” Chrollo hissed.

“What is it?” Kurapika asked, suddenly interested. They leant over their knees, hands clasped together as Chrollo raised a hand to shut Kurapika up. Kurapika clamped their mouth shut with a sour look.

“If I get there in the next three hours and it’s gone—” he said in that same, dull voice. The threat, however, was implicit. 

He hung up shortly after. Kurapika watched the motion with a sense of deep, tingling anticipation. Chrollo turned away from the window to grab his beanie. He produced a pair of sunglasses from the inside pocket of his leather jacket and snapped them out. 

“Let’s go,” he said.

_It seems we’re going to Yorknew, then_ , Kurapika thought as they stood to follow.

 

* * *

 

Gon crouched at the edge of the sidewalk outside of the butcher’s shop. The entire pack was there, watching intently—but none so intent as Leorio, who was crouched beside Gon, staring intently at Gon’s face as he breathed in deeply through his nose. 

He breathed in as much as he could before releasing it all with a gasp. He clasped his hands to his knees and sighed, shaking his head. “They got in Kurapika’s car and left. I can’t really smell them from here—maybe if the window had been open, but the vents aren’t giving me much to work with.”

“Damn,” Leorio huffed, rising to his feet. Gon studied the cobbled street once more before rising beside Leorio, rubbing at his nose. His senses were on high alert and in the streets of Whale Island’s only town, the commotion was overwhelming. He could hear a conversation happening two blocks away on top of every door opening, every television on— _everything_ spiraling into a dull, extraneous roar. 

He wondered if he’d even be able to pick out Kurapika in all that racket. 

Gon scratched at his hair, rubbing over the dense, furry ears hidden in the chaos of his bedhead. As he tried to muffle the sound of everything, the butcher shop door chimed behind him. He turned to see Knuckle exiting and holding the door open for the shop owner. 

Gon recognized the man, but Gon had never frequented the butcher’s shop. Frankly, he never set foot in it before that day, so the man had no reason to recognize Gon’s face as being a citizen of Whale Island. 

“What can I do for you folks?” the butcher asked, brushing his hands over his apron. 

Knuckle stepped up to Gon and held out a plastic baggie of freshly cooked rotisserie meat. Gon’s mouth watered the instant he caught wind of the smell, and he grabbed the bag before he could think to stop himself from tearing into it with his claws.

As Gon demolished the food with the butcher watching him warily, Leorio stepped up between them and asked, “We’re looking for a friend. Blonde kid, looks twenty-something, probably over-polite and well dressed.”

“Ah, yes, the young fellow from last night,” the butcher said. “Left just as I was closing.”

“Did you see which way they went?” Leorio asked.

“Can’t say I took note, no. Sorry,” he said with a half-shrug. He eyed Gon once more, who was already tearing into the glazed ham with his sharpened canines. 

Gon watched with wide eyes as Knuckle thanked the man. He watched the butcher leave back to the shop, where the butcher opened the door and glanced back at them—specifically, glanced back at Gon like Gon had dog ears or something. Gon frowned at the sensation of his ears flicking irritably on his head. 

“We have another hour or so before it gets dark,” Leorio said. “It’ll probably be easier to sniff Kurapika out when the streets are empty.”

“Who’s to say Kurapika’s even  _on_ Whale Island?” Gon said, words muffled around the ham in his mouth. He ripped the shred of it from the ham and covered his mouth as he chewed. “We should check in with the ferry tollbooth.”

“That… is actually a brilliant idea,” Leorio said, sounding slightly disappointed as he scratched at his stubble. Gon beamed, cheeks smeared with glaze. 

The team piled into their designated cars and took off for the docks. They cruised down the hill that funneled into the dock parking lot, and as they hurried down the concrete ledge onto the docks, they caught the tollbooth worker switching places for the night with their coworker. Gon skipped the last few steps and took off running across the docks. His ears popped somewhere between the stairs and the booth, and an instant later, he lost his balance when his human ears flicked out into view. 

He staggered, waving his arms to keep himself up. He stilled in front of the worker, who was stunned by the sight of an entire pack of werewolves making a beeline for her. She blinked down at Gon, who asked if she had time, as if he was about to ask if she had a moment to talk about Jesus Christ.

“I should… get going—” she started, pointing away towards the opposite end of the docks. When she turned, she intercepted Leorio standing there in all his six-foot glory, hands on his hips. 

“We’re looking for a friend,” Leorio explained, and went on to describe Kurapika’s blonde hair and polite affect once more. 

The girl relaxed a fraction. Gon’s nose twitched at the scent—something akin to  _relief_ ? He wasn’t sure, but he was certain that the girl didn’t need to think all that long before putting a face to the memory. 

“Yes, I saw them leaving early this morning. They caught the first ferry inland, set to dock at Yorknew,” she explained. Leorio sighed in relief and thanked her, but before they could let her go, Gon reached out with a worried look.

“You said ‘they’,” Gon said. Leorio hadn’t given a definitive pronoun. 

She glanced down at him as she hummed, “Yes, there was someone in the car with your friend. I couldn’t get a good look at them. Your friend got out to pay the fare and the passenger didn’t move.”

A moment of silence passed. Eventually, the girl waved farewell and left their group. Gon put a hand to his chin and considered what she had said.  _The passenger didn’t move_ . Kurapika had gone willingly…

“Perhaps they’re being hypnotized…” Gon hummed, pursing his lips. 

“That’s ridiculous,” Knuckle said.

“Ridiculously  _plausible_ ,” Leorio said. “No way in hell would Kurapika give in without a fight! We have to go to Yorknew!”

The rest of the pack agreed, and so they swarmed the new tollbooth worker, who, in a flustered mess, began dolling out the schedule for the ferry. Gon watched them all flock and bicker about the prices before glancing back at the town towards the hill over it all. His house couldn’t be seen from this far, but he wondered if Killua was okay.

Now that he wasn’t at Killua’s side, the fog his mind had been in had dissipated. His own history with light magic told him that it would be another half day before Killua would even be able to move, not necessarily  _wake up_ . 

_I have time_ , he told himself, straightening up. He turned back to the group where Knuckle watched him from the edge of the group. Gon gave him a firm nod, and Knuckle seemed to smile. 

_I’ll be back before Killua wakes up_ .

 

* * *

 

An hour later, Killua’s eyes opened to the dark shadows on the ceiling timber beams in Gon’s bedroom. His body ached—he could feel the acid in each of his muscles from his toes to his fingers. He curled his hands into fists, but even that was a struggle. 

“ _Fuck_ ,” he seethed, putting his weight into his elbows and heaving himself up. It was more difficult than he anticipated, and when he looked down, he realized why.

He was cocooned in a mountain of blankets. 

“What the fuck…?” he whispered, raising an eyebrow at the state of the bed. Gon’s bed. He didn’t recall making it this far after his training with Bisky.

He put a hand to his throbbing temple, sniffling a little. His fingers grazed the linking dock on his forehead, and when he gripped it between his fingers, his hand shook. He plucked it off and groaned. His head felt stuffed with cotton. He never once had a regular headache before, but he was certain this was it. Not only was it stuffed with cotton, but it felt as though someone had wrapped a rubber band around his skull and snapped it against his forehead for good measure. 

He sniffed again, gagging a little. He put a hand to his nose and thought,  _What the hell’s up with my nose?_ He couldn’t breathe through it, and his throat started to tickle.

Killua coughed into his elbow and didn’t stop until he couldn’t breathe. He pushed over to the edge of the bed, coughs racking through him as he tried to escape the cocoon and failed. He rasped out a panicked, “Shit!” as he tumbled to the floor. 

His cough felt wet in his chest and his breath rattled as he got to his knees. The fall had loosened the cocoon, so he made his escape and lumbered like a zombie out of the room. He cleared his throat as he went, a hand to his neck. He didn’t want to think about what was happening now, not when there was a very crucial problem:

He couldn’t hear anything, and if this was Gon’s house, he was sure Gon would be making a racket of some kind and Kurapika would reluctantly take the brunt of it. 

He went to the stair railing and peered down. The lights in the house were all switched off, which left the rooms in an eerie state of deep blue that loomed up to where a sudden coursed up Killua’s spine. 

_Where did they go?_ he wondered, limbs shaking as he lumbered down the steps, both hands braced on the railing. He tried to go a few steps without the railing at all, but it appeared as though his ankles had turned to pudding. 

He was in the kitchen before he even realized what he was doing. He went through the cabinets in search of a cup before sticking it under the faucet. His parched mouth and dry lips could use a gallon of water or two, so he chugged one glass and then another before taking the third on his trek around the house. 

He found tissues in the downstairs restroom. He didn’t bother flicking the light on as he blew his nose and grimaced at the sound it made. 

_I’ve never been sick_ , he said, disposing of the used tissue with his tongue sticking out.  _I suppose it makes sense that my immune system is compromised. No wonder my family stuck to dark magic_ .

It would take longer than a week then for Killua to be able to summon Bisky again. He would have to wait for his immune system to kick this cold in its bacterial ass. 

Killua took the tissue box with him. 

“Kurapika?” Killua called as he lapped around the house. “Gon?” No reply.

He wandered to the front door and pushed it open. He stood out on the open stoop, frowning. Kurapika’s car was gone, but his bike was still there. He reached into his back pocket for his phone. It was nearly nine in the evening, which meant that the stores were bound to close soon. He considered the chance that Kurapika and Gon had gone out to eat, so he took a seat on the stoop with his tissue box and phone.

He blew his nose once more before bringing up Gon’s number. He held the crumpled-up tissue to his nose as the phone rang in his ear. 

It didn’t take longer than two rings for Gon to pick up.

“ _Hello?_ ”

“Hey, it’s me,” Killua said. 

“ _KILLUA!_ ” Gon screamed. Killua grimaced, pulling the phone away as Gon shrieked again, “ _You’re awake! What’re you doing awake?!_ ”

“Wondering where the hell you guys are,” he said, scuffing his bare heel against the step below him. “Are you guys in town? I’ll come to you guys.”

“ _I—uh… it’s complicated_ ,” Gon said. “ _I’ll come back to you—_ ”

“ _No way! We need you here—_ ” someone said, and it wasn’t Kurapika. The person sounded too aggressive to be Kurapika. 

“Is that Leorio? What the hell’s going on?” Killua said, pushing to his feet. If Leorio was on Whale Island, then—

“ _Let me talk to him—_ ”

“ _No! I wanna talk to him!_ ” Gon whined, and the whining promptly turned to vicious snarls that sounded like pure static through the phone. Killua winced when Leorio screamed, “ _He bit me! Knuckle!_ ”

“ _Yeah, tell that to the bite mark on my arm_ ,” Knuckle shouted, muffled in the background. 

Gon’s voice became crystal clear then. “ _Are you okay? You’re not supposed to speed up the recycling process—_ ”

“I’m fine, idiot,” Killua huffed, but it was strained. He slapped the phone to his leg to muffle the sound of him coughing into his elbow. When that was done, he put the phone back and interrupted whatever Gon was saying. “Just tell me where you guys are and I’ll come to you. It’s not a big deal.”

“ _No, wait! You stay there, I’ll come to you—_ ”

“ _You literally can’t, Gon_ ,” Knuckle said. 

“ _I can swim!_ ” Gon cried, voice blending into a growl as Leorio concurred with Knuckle.

_Swim?_ Killua thought. He put a hand to his pocket and pulled his wallet out. His winnings from Heaven’s Arena could cover another fare on the ferry, surely, and with Bisky, he didn’t need to worry about saving up for a proper linking dock. 

Killua started back into the house to grab his things, coughing into his elbow as Gon argued with Knuckle about the logistics of swimming back to shore. “Just because you’re a  _dog_ now doesn’t mean you can swim a mile,” Killua rasped as he stomped up the stairs. “Where are you idiots going anyway?”

Gon fell silent, which only made Killua’s sickly voice all the more obvious. He stifled another cough as he bent down at the end of Gon’s bed, where his backpack was propped against the wall. When he sniffled, he gagged with a moan.  _Disgusting, why would people ever sniffle?_ he wondered, sticking his tongue out as he felt the mucus in his throat. He made a firm resolution never to sniffle again.

“ _Killua… are you okay?_ ” Gon asked. 

“I’m fine.”

“ _Video chat with me then_ .”

Killua didn’t even think to look at himself in the mirror when he was in the restroom, but Gon’s suggestion made him second-guess himself. He probably looked like shit. He never felt like shit before, but fuck it if he wasn’t in metamorphosis now, transforming into a pile of snotty shit. 

Killua shook his head at himself and sighed, “I’ll see you later, Gon.”

“ _I didn’t tell you where we’re going_ .”

“I don’t need you to tell me.”

Killua hung up and threw the phone at the deflated cocoon on the ground. The instant it flopped onto the wood floor, it was buzzing again, the screen glowing stupidly bright in the dark room. 

As Killua stood, slinging his backpack onto his shoulders with the tissue box in one hand, his expression dimmed. He went to pick up the phone. Killua Zoldyck, son of dark magic assassins, couldn’t call himself an assassin if he couldn’t do this very simple task of finding Gon and Kurapika. It was almost too easy and, truthfully, the thrill was in the chase.At the end of the line, he wouldn’t be killing them, but hunting them down felt like fun to him. 

A sinister smile spread across his lips as he scoffed and left the room.  _Maybe I am a little too much like Hisoka_ , he thought, bounding down the stairs and taking off for his bike. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This ain't no ordinary sick fic, y'all *jazz hands*


	22. 22 x friendship bracelets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hisoka's favorite snacc is past its expiration date and he is NOT pleased.

**W** hen Killua’s motorcycle coasted off of the ramp on the Yorknew docks, he revved the engine just for the added flare of it before swinging into the parking lot where he put the stand out and stood with his helmet still secured. He flicked the visor up as he swung his rucksack around and loosened the drawstring. Inside sat a familiar pouch of powder that he now hoisted up into the midnight air with a sharp grin. “ _Bingo_ ,” he said, and he would have sounded a lot cooler if his nose wasn’t so plugged up.

Killua poured a pinch of powder onto his gloved hand and, turning it towards the concrete, blew it out onto the wind. He watched the magic take hold as he brushed his hand off on his jeans, eyes scanning the parking lot. With Gon and Kurapika on his mind, the magic clung to them like glitter on glue. As it settled, it consolidated on two sets of tire tracks. Killua put the kickstand up and, returning the pouch to his rucksack, continued on after the tracks.

When he reached the street, they forked off.

Killua studied them for a moment. He touched a foot to Kurapika’s path—the tracks were fainter, but only by a fraction—a few hours at most.  _Kurapika left before Gon? Gon was with Knuckle and Leorio, though_ .

“ _It’s complicated_ ,” Gon had said.

Killua rubbed a hand over the back of his helmet and sighed. If anything, Leorio would have went with Kurapika, so it was odd that they were separated at all. Killua looked off down the track Gon took before turning his bike onto Kurapika’s path and moving on. He’d call Gon later. 

The tire tracks took Killua to the nightlife of Yorknew. Traffic was denser here, and the sidewalks were filled with colorful teenagers decked out in club gear. Killua recognized the warehouse district and the path Kurapika’s car took. It was because of this that Killua wasn’t surprised when the tracks stopped in front of Thir13en. 

What surprised him, however, was the fact that the tracks settled beneath the tires of a white car. 

Killua parked his bike and dismounted. He locked his helmet up, still frowning at the car. It  _looked_ like Kurapika’s car if it had a new paint job. Killua circled around to the front windshield, squinting at the metal cross medallion hooked on the rearview mirror.  _Definitely Kurapika’s car_ , he thought, dragging his finger across the hood. 

His finger left a trail of black. 

He looked at the pad of his gloved finger and rubbed it with his thumb. Nothing came off, aside from a touch of magical residue from the tracking powder.  _Someone else touched the car_ , he realized. 

The tracking powder had a time limit, but no distinct limit to the number of individuals it could track at once. Killua stepped back from the car and cast his hand over the hood, revealing the trail the stranger’s hand took across the hood. They imparted magic on it, to change the color of the car. Killua expected to get an inkling of dark magic, but instead, he came up empty.

A pair of footsteps began to take shape on the concrete beside him. They walked side-by-side with Kurapika’s past the line waiting to get in to Thir13en. Killua followed the trail until he was directly beneath the neon magenta sign over the door, and within the shadow of the security guard checking IDs. 

Killua realized just as the security guard turned to face him that he had never once negotiated with a club bouncer before. 

“Uh…” Killua said.

“Back of the line, kid, unless you’ve got something to say.”

Killua’s nose started to run, and since the only time his nose ever leaked was when he had a bloody nose, it was rational to assume that blood would be on his glove when he put his hand to it. When it came back clear, he was too distracted by his illness to realize that someone had approached the bouncer. Someone on Killua’s personal hit list. 

“Ah, Killua, lovely to see you at my front door. Let him through.” 

Killua’s eyes snapped up to where Hisoka was leaning against the exit door, looking smug as usual. If Killua had a lick of magic, he’d be sparking in a rage at that moment. Instead, he felt the distinct urge to sneeze. 

The bouncer went on to the rest of the line as Killua glared Hisoka down. Hisoka’s smile faded and was replaced with a wrinkled-up nose and a disturbed, “You smell sour.”

“I’m sick and I’m pissed as hell,” Killua seethed.

Hisoka took a step back and put a hand to the door to close it. “Well, in that case, no longer free admission. Come back when your scent returns to normal.”

Killua marched up and slammed his hand on the door to stop it. Hisoka sighed dully, rolling his eyes away as Killua leant in and sneered, “You  _killed_ Godspeed.”

“It’s a demon, not a puppy,” Hisoka droned. 

“I don’t give a shit. I’ll fucking kill you for it.”

“Ah, so you’d cry over a demon but not your friendly, neighborhood ghoul? Heartless, truly.”

“Kurapika’s here, aren’t they?” Killua hissed. Hisoka dragged his eyes back over to Killua. A shudder rippled through him in the form of a violent cough that he muffled behind his arm. Hisoka looked two seconds away from kicking Killua off of his doorstep. “T-Take me to them,” he rasped.

“Another time, perhaps,” Hisoka said. 

“ _Now_ ,” Killua snarled, putting his entire weight behind the next shove. He squeezed himself through the door before Hisoka could block him. Considering Hisoka’s disgust of snot, though, Hisoka leant out of the way with his arms up in surrender. 

Killua took a threatening step towards him, and Hisoka relented. “I’ll bring them out. Follow me.”

Killua’s fists shook, clenched at his sides, as he marched after Hisoka through the club. The smoke in the air clogged his already struggling lungs. He felt like his anger was suffocating him, though, as he followed Hisoka up the steps over the club commotion. There was a door at the top of the stairs and, once they were through it, the music became muffled to a dull beat beneath their feet. 

Killua sucked in a deep breath as he watched Hisoka’s back ahead of him, passing beneath the strips of colored, LED lights bordering the tiled ceiling. It cast a shimmer of vibrancy across the corridor, swirling the colors together into a warped rainbow. Killua distinctly felt as though he had been transported to a different dimension as the bass vibrated through the soles of his combat boots. 

At the end of the corridor was another staircase, which twisted up to the top floor of the building. Before Killua could follow, however, Hisoka held a hand out to him and said, “Stay here.”

“What? Hell no,” Killua said. 

Hisoka met his eyes. His expression was still, unamused, and Killua found himself shutting his mouth. Satisfied, Hisoka turned away and started up to the top floor. Killua crossed his arms and waited, huffy and impatient, for the door upstairs to open again.

When it did, it came with the sound of Kurapika’s voice slurring, “‘M _going_ , don’ touch me, ‘m  _fine_ .”

Killua straightened. He stared with a mix of horror and confusion as Kurapika swung around the railing with a giggle, kicking out their leg as Hisoka followed close behind.  _I sleep for a day and Kurapika’s hanging out at Thir13en high as fuck?_ he thought, reaching out to catch Kurapika as they slumped forward into Killua’s arms. 

Kurapika wrapped their arms around Killua and said, “Killua! You’re  _here_ , perfect!”

“What the hell’s going on?” Killua said, glancing at Hisoka before Kurapika leant away, clasping onto Killua’s shoulders and giving him a shake. 

“Where’s that faerie? I liked her,” Kurapika pouted. 

“I-I can’t summon her for another week,” Killua said, shaking his head. “What  _happened?_ And—are you  _high?_ Where’d you get griffin?”

“New friend!” Kurapika sang, throwing an arm out towards the stairs. No one was there. “Oh, wait, you can’t meet him! That’s okay, I already told him all—about— _you!_ ” Kurapika poked Killua’s nose which each word, and Killua resisted the urge to both sniff and sneeze. 

Kurapika squeezed his cheeks and said, “Aw, what’s wrong? You look tired.”

“I’m sick as  _shit_ right now,” Killua said, slapping Kurapika’s hands away. “What do you mean ‘new friend’?”

“A mutual of mine,” Hisoka explained, arms crossed. He leant against the stair railing as Kurapika took to patting Killua’s helmet hair and cradling his head. “I would introduce the two of you, but humans don’t mix well with him.”

“What do you mean? A siren?” Killua said, thinking back to Kurapika’s supernatural hit list. Sirens were on the list. 

Hisoka raised a manicured nail and said, “Close, but not quite. They are far more rare than that.”

Killua stared at him. He had encountered most species one way or the other through his family, and nothing he could think of fit the bill of a siren that  _wasn’t_ a siren. He shrugged, shaking his head against Kurapika’s hold. 

Hisoka sighed and droned, “You’re so dull when you’re  _ill_ . He’s an incubus.”

Killua couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Incubus and succubus were, quite honestly, as impossible to find as evidence of divinity. Some would say their existence  _was_ evidence of divinity, and that to touch divinity was to spiral into madness. Legend had it that humans crippled in the face of such creatures.

Killua glanced at the stairs, where he was so dangerously close to encountering such a creature. It would have been a mistake to follow Hisoka up there, he realized, dread seeping into him. 

Killua glanced at Kurapika, who had their cheek pressed against his hair. “I was worried about you,” Killua confessed, reaching an arm around Kurapika’s back. When he did, his arm touched the stiff material of Kurapika’s jacket. It felt  _crusty_ with some sort of  _liquid_ . Before Killua could think too intently about it, Kurapika pulled away and pat his head. 

“No need to worry,” they said. “I have to go back. I’ll… see you later, okay?”

Killua nodded. “Yeah, okay. Be careful,” he said. 

Kurapika gave him one last squeeze before stumbling off. They tripped going up the first step, and Hisoka caught them with one hand. He lifted them up like one might a respectable lady into a carriage, and Kurapika thanked him on their way past. Killua couldn’t believe what he was seeing and he wondered, vaguely, if  _he_ was the one who was high.

“As much as I’d hate to be around you right now, I have other less important things to attend to,” Hisoka sighed as he passed Killua down the hall. Killua distinctly heard the man mutter, “How disappointing…”

Killua’s throat constricted at the vivid, visceral memory of a hand in his throat. He grasped for Hisoka’s arm, clamping onto the man’s wrist, and holding him back. Killua’s hand stopped at his waist where he knew a knife was stored, hidden in the leather capsule against the small of his back.  _I could kill him now, if I wanted_ , he thought. He fought only one ghoul in the past and knew decapitation wasn’t a sure-fire end to them, and without magic, he wouldn’t be able to carbonize the wound to prevent Hisoka from regenerating. 

Hisoka stared down at him as his grip tightened on Hisoka’s wrist. His hands shook at the sight of Hisoka’s white scleras seeping over with black. 

“Careful now,” Hisoka said. “I am not below caging you up and waiting for your flavor to return.”

Killua shuddered. “As if I’d let you.”

“It’d be disappointing if you didn’t put up a fight.”

Hisoka yanked his hand out of Killua’s hold. The moment he turned a step away, clicking his tongue in annoyance, Killua unsheathed the knife and covered the sound of it with the slap of his hand on Hisoka’s left arm. He swung Hisoka into the tiled wall and twisted his forearm into Hisoka’s lower back. He hooked the knife under Hisoka’s chin. 

Hisoka pressed his cheek to the tiles and smiled wide. “Ah, that’s more like it.”

Killua twisted Hisoka’s wrist so hard he felt a tendon slip against bone. “I swear to God I’ll decapitate you and lock your head in a steel box.”

“Sounds kinky—I’m not opposed to being a part of your—collection.” 

Killua nicked his skin just below his jaw. Ghouls were far from human, and the slit in his flesh gave away no liquid, no blood, and certainly nothing that Killua could call a wound. Ghouls could feel and therefore feel pain, but it would take more than just a cut. 

Killua swiped the knife across Hisoka’s throat. It slid through with a satisfying  _shink_ before Killua flipped the handle around in his palm and sunk it back into its sheathe against his lower back. He stepped back and stormed towards the exit, saying, “Have fun healing that.”

Killua couldn’t stop shaking as he left Thir13en. He lowered himself slowly onto his bike, teeth clenched so tight his gums ached and his headache sprung back tenfold. He slammed his fists on the handlebar rubber and fumed, a curse hissing through his teeth. 

He could feel the pressure of his linking dock throbbing beneath his temple, compounded by the headache pulsing in his skull. He could still feel the ghost of Godspeed on his skin, crackling in his hair, drilling an unfathomable amount of inter dimensional energy through his core. He could still feel the way it shattered and made his throat feel clogged with shards of glass. 

“ _Dammit_ ,” he seethed, tears stinging at the corners of his eyes. He rubbed them away, resisting the urge to sniff. He went for the tissues in the back compartment and blew his nose before dialing up Gon.

The phone didn’t even ring. He put the speaker to his ear and was instantly met with Gon crying, “ _Killua! Where are you?! Did you make it to the docks?!_ ”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” Killua said, but his stuffy voice sounded far from fine. “I found Kurapika. I just left and—”

“ _Wait, you FOUND KURAPIKA?!_ ”

Killua leant away from the phone with a colorful curse, grimacing as a couple passed him on the sidewalk and eyed him strangely. He didn’t even bother smiling apologetically. Smiling felt impossible in that moment. “Yeah, they’re at Thir13en. I thought you guys might know?”

“ _No! We’ve been trying to find them and—hang on—Morel-san, Kurapika’s at Thir13en—_ ”

“ _Kurapika’s WHAT?!_ ” Leorio screamed. A series of ruffled noises, some screaming, and a bloodthirsty growl later, the line went dead. 

Killua stared at the whole twenty second conversation ticking on his screen before his phone shut off on its own. He lowered his phone and sighed.  _That was weird_ , he thought, slumping forward. Killua propped his elbows on the base of the handlebars and put his head in his hands. 

This was precisely how the pack found Killua twenty minutes later.

Killua heard a car pull up behind him. He hastily rubbed his hands over his eyes and looked up with a deep inhale in hopes of relaxing himself, if only slightly. His eyes still burned, but he could deal with that. He could tack it on to the many symptoms of his cold—

“ _Killua!_ ” Gon shouted, and Killua was startled that the sound of his name was so close and—

Gon slammed into him from the sidewalk.

Killua cursed. To keep the bike from falling, he put his weight on one foot. Gon grabbed him, his arms tight around Killua’s neck as they both were flung over the seat and onto the concrete. Gon took the brunt of the fall, and Killua gasped at the impact. 

Killua pushed himself onto an elbow, coughing into his arm as Gon got onto his knees and grasped Killua by the shoulders. “Did I hurt you?! Are you okay?” Gon screamed.

“Stop  _yelling_ ! I’m—f- _fine_ ,” Killua gasped out between coughs. 

Gon slumped a little, staring at him as his coughs sobered. Killua cursed as he pulled one knee up and used it to push himself to his feet. Gon scrambled after him, saying, “What about Kurapika? Where are they?”

Killua pointed to the club entrance and said, “In there.” The moment he did so, he regretted it. As expected, Leorio started marching towards the front of the line. “ _Idiot_ ,” Killua groaned, turning to jog after him. 

Gon caught him by the arm and said, “Wait, Killua, you have to take it easy. I think you might have rushed the cycle—”

“Let go of me—I have to stop Leorio,” Killua said, but it was too late for that since Leorio was already starting a verbal fight with the bouncer.

Knuckle and Morel were on the sidewalk beside the car. Gon dug his heels into the concrete and forced Killua to a stop. Try as he might with his sore muscles, Gon was stronger and more stubborn than he was. Killua slumped with a sigh and said, “Kurapika’s fine, but their buddy’s an incubus so we can’t see them without losing our minds.”

Knuckle’s eyes widened. He turned to look up at Morel, whose brow furrowed over his sunglasses. Killua stared him down, knowing that Morel would be able to reason with Leorio if it came down to that. 

Gon still had a viselike grip on Killua’s arm. “What do you mean?” Gon asked.

“I  _mean_ that—”

“Did Kurapika seem okay?” Morel interrupted. “Gon mentioned that you spoke to them.”

Killua blinked. His shoulders relaxed a fraction as he nodded and said, “Yeah, they seemed fine. They got ahold of another griffin egg, so it sounds like they’re having fun. Kurapika said the guy was a friend, so I didn’t think to stop them.”

“A friend, huh? Guess your instincts were wrong, then,” Knuckle said to Gon. 

Killua glanced over at Gon, who was staring at the ground now with a furrowed brow. Gon let go of his arm. 

“Well, we can’t get ‘em all,” Knuckle said. “Can’t believe we spent all that money on fares though.”

“You’re just pissy because you’re a homebody,” Morel said. 

“Am not!” Knuckle snapped. Morel laughed and clamped a hand onto Knuckle’s head to ruffle his hair. Knuckle ducked to avoid it, but in the end, relented to the calming sensation of Morel’s fatherly affections.

“I’ll fetch Leorio,” Morel said, just as Leorio was thrown into the street. 

The bodyguard walked back to the line, brushing his hands off. Leorio jumped up from the ground with a flurry of curses, but was almost instantly shut up by Morel giving him a gentle pat on the head and a nudge in the direction of the car. 

Killua sniffled a little. That same repulsive, stomach-wrenching sensation was back with a vengeance. Killua gagged on the mucus and felt bile in the back of his throat where the urge to vomit doubled. 

“Killua!” Gon cried as he doubled over, a hand clasped over his mouth. 

He tried to say he was fine, but instead, vomit spewed out onto the sidewalk. He swayed and tripped on the curb trying to get back to his bike. Gon was frozen by the spatter of vomit on the ground in front of him, stunned by the very real situation neither of them thought would come. 

Against all odds, Killua had the flu.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hisoka's friendship bracelet would be a collar and Killua's friendship bracelet would be handcuffs, pass it on.
> 
> Real talk tho I started My Hero Academia this weekend and I'm already halfway through Season 3. HALP. I NEED A SCOTT PILGRIM AU WHERE DEKU IS SCOTT, URARAKA IS RAMONA FLOWERS, IIDA IS THE ROOMMATE, AND EVERYONE ELSE, SPECIFICALLY BAKUGO AND TODOROKI, ARE EVIL EXES. But Todoroki doesn't care enough to fight until Deku eggs him on (by accident) and Todoroki's like "You asked for it, mortal" and just ANNIHILATES HIM. But the fight ultimately ends with a therapy session where Todoroki's lying on a chaise lounge like "My father doesn't respect my wishes to be an individual." and Deku's got a clipboard and he's like "Perhaps its your confidence in your OWN individuality that needs to be awakened" at which point Uraraka steps into the demolished room and is like "Uh..."


	23. 23 x friendship bracelets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Just let me snuggle you," Gon says. "No," Killua says, arms straight out like a cat when you try to pick it up and it slaps its paw on your face and stiff-arms you.
> 
> "Say it. Out loud." Kurapika says. They're in a forest in Washington state. Chrollo leans in real close from behind and whispers, " _Praise kink_."

Killua woke up with a fever of 101. Overhead was the ceiling over Kurapika’s living room in Yorknew. For a moment, Killua was disoriented by the fact that he was no longer in Gon’s room.

Killua’s entire body felt swelteringly hot. He tugged the blanket down from his chest with a huff, his breath coming out heavily through his mouth. He pushed himself up onto one elbow to spare a glance around the apartment. It appeared empty—that is, aside from Leorio being completely passed out on the opposite couch with Knuckle at his feet, sleeping with the leg rest up. Killua blinked his bleary eyes, unable to breathe through his nose. He patted his hand over his pockets in search of a tissue before at last finding his tissue box at the end table. 

He blew his nose, but the pressure just spurred on a vicious cough. He bent over, hands on the cushions, coughing into his arm. 

A hand touched his back.

He jolted at the sensation and turned to look, only to find Gon at eye-level with him. 

“G-Gon!” Killua gasped, wheezing. 

Gon was raised up on one elbow from where he had been sleeping next to the couch. The blanket slipped from his shoulders as he pushed himself up onto his knees beside Killua, his hand moving up to the back of Killua’s damp neck. He was sweating and he didn’t realize it until that moment. 

Gon put the back of his hand to Killua’s forehead before reaching for the end table. “Here—have some water.”

“Wh-Where’s Kurapika?” Killua asked as Gon placed the cup in his hand. He guzzled it like he hadn’t had water in days. If it weren’t for the three cups he had at the house, he really wouldn’t have had a drink of water in days.

“They’re fine, still at Thir13en. They drunk texted Leorio a few hours ago,” Gon said in a whisper.

Killua glanced over at the opposite couch where Leorio was still passed out. The ruckus he made coughing, though, meant that Leorio had shifted in his sleep so now one leg was slung over the back of the couch and and the other was on Knuckle’s lap.

_I guess that explains why Leorio’s even able to sleep now_ , Killua thought, finishing the glass of water. 

He set the cup down, and it wobbled from his unsteady grasp. 

“How are you feeling? You’re shaking,” Gon said. 

“Low blood sugar,” Killua said, holding both hands up. He stared down at them as his fingers trembled against his will. “But I’m not very hungry…”

“I’ll see what Kurapika has,” Gon said, using the couch cushion to push himself up. He jumped the armchair adjacent to the couch and skidded into the kitchen where he started riffling through cabinets left and right.

Somehow, Knuckle and Leorio were still unconscious. Killua watched as Gon pulled out boxes of crackers and granola bars, cookies and cereal. He was wearing a white tank top then, his shirt discarded on the floor along with his shoes, which left him barefoot on Kurapika’s tiled flooring. His short, stocky stature made reaching for the top shelves difficult, but Killua found that he didn’t care all that much to help. He was too amused watching Gon stand on the tips of his toes. 

Killua put his feet on the ground and, with the cool air in Kurapika’s apartment on his skin, he pushed himself up with a groan. The sound was by complete accident, and managed to catch Gon’s attention, who scrambled back with a hurried, “No, no, stay seated! What do you need? I’ll bring it to you—”

“The bathroom, you idiot,” Killua huffed, putting his hand out to stop Gon from forcing him back down. 

Gon stared at him with those wide, round eyes, his slitted pupils expanding over the entire surface area of his irises. There weren’t any lights on, so Killua didn’t blame him, but he couldn’t help but hesitate at the sight of them. His hand was still held out between them, and he felt awkward just dropping it to his side. Instead, he dropped it onto Gon’s shoulder as he passed, dropping his gaze to the floor. 

“Whatever,” he muttered. “I’ll be back.”

Killua padded across the apartment to the restroom. Inside, he shut the door and, after a second thought, locked it. The doorframe sealed. It was bitter cold in the apartment, and his bare feet felt like ice on the tiles. He shivered as he glanced around the room and realized that he had no real purpose for coming there. 

Kurapika’s restroom was tidy and equipped with a toilet for the sole purpose of being one of many look-alike apartments. As a vampire, Kurapika had no use for one. Killua opened up the medicine cabinet and sifted through the bottles of what Kurapika assumed were the “basic essentials for humans”. Anti-inflamatory agents, numbing gel… laxatives…

_As human as you act, you have a weird understanding of human biology_ , Killua thought. 

Something in Killua’s stomach started to feel like it was solidifying and tearing the lining of his esophagus. He was scrambling for the toilet before he could think why. 

He bent over the toilet bowl as his stomach heaved and spasmed. Bile burned up his throat and splattered into the toilet water. He threw up twice before all that came up were repeated dry heaves until he at last laid on the ground with his flushed cheek to the tiles. For a moment, he laid still all except for his panting, heaving chest. Eventually he got up to wash out his mouth. 

The last time he threw up was when he was a child during training, and again when he was in grade school due to a punch to the gut.

A knock sounded on the door. Killua shut off the faucet to look, realizing then that he likely couldn’t hear if Gon was saying something on the other side. He reached out to the handle and opened it a crack. 

Gon stood there and visibly stiffened when he saw Killua. Killua stared dully at him and said, “What.”

Gon put a hand to his nose and said, “N-Nothing.”

Killua sighed. “You can smell it, can’t you,” he said.

Gon ducked his head and nodded silently. Killua cursed and went back to the sink where he shoveled water into his mouth and gargled it. Gon pushed the door open more to step inside. Killua swished water between his cheeks before spitting it down the sink with a gasp. He took a few hurried gulps of water from the faucet before drying his face off with a towel.

Gon flushed the toilet for him. 

“Are you…  _sure_ you’re feeling all right?” he asked again.

Killua bristled. “Are you gonna keep asking me that?”

Gon grimaced, scratching a finger against his jawline. “Ah, well, the evidence may suggest—”

“I’m  _fine_ , Gon,” Killua hissed. Gon swallowed hard, eyes wide and still dilated even in the fully lit restroom. Killua shoved a hand in Gon’s face and said, “Quit looking at me like that!” He pushed Gon out of the way of the door and made his way out to the main living room. 

He went to the living room where he took a granola bar from the stash Gon unearthed from Kurapika’s cupboards. He took up his rucksack where it was propped up against the couch and, taking the cup of water and the tissue box, started down the hall to the guest bedroom. Gon watched from the restroom in a kind of stupor. 

Killua attempted to open the guest bedroom door with his elbow, and when that didn’t work, he balanced on one foot to turn the handle with his toes. 

Gon hurried over to help. He ducked between Killua and the door and steadied him on two feet once more. “Let me help, Killua—don’t overexert yourself.”

“I’m—” he started, but Gon shut him up with a sharp look. Killua swallowed hard at the ferocity behind that look.

When Gon opened the bedroom door, Killua came to realize that it was dawn once more. The window was still exposed from when they last visited and Gon had sat, perched like a cat, on the windowsill. Killua stared at the space where they had left the sleeping bags folded up on the floor, with the extra pillows stacked on top. 

Gon held the door open for Killua and shut the door. Killua glanced back at it, and as expected, Gon had invited himself in. 

Gon grimaced a little at the look Killua gave him. “Is… it okay that I’m in here?” Gon asked, looking as though Killua was about to kick him. 

“Yeah, sure,” he said, half under his breath. If he spoke any louder, he feared he’d start coughing.

He turned away and went to the end table. He set his things down and dropped his rucksack against the wall. He crawled onto the bed, nearest the edge where he could reach the tissue box and water. As he unwrapped the granola bar, he crossed his legs and glanced over at where Gon was still standing by the door. 

Gon was staring at him, eyes wide and dilated. He was giving Killua a long face, like a dog sitting at the edge of the bed asking for permission to jump. 

Killua reached a hand out beside him and he barely managed to get one pat in before Gon was vaulting for the mattress. The entire bed quaked on impact as Gon skidded across the comforter and collapsed beside Killua with a thrilled laugh. Killua retracted his hand to keep Gon from running into it. 

“You’re being more ridiculous than usual,” Killua commented as he took a bite from his granola bar. 

Gon shifted close, putting his weight on the hand he placed on the pillow behind Killua. He was smiling so wide—it was kind of sweet, but coupled with his dilated pupils, he looked psychotic. Killua snorted a little as Gon said, “It’s just—It’s not often I get to take care of  _you_ .”

“That’s weird,” Killua muttered to keep from laughing. He turned away, stomach churning again. It wasn’t enough to gag on bile, though, so he took a sip of water and blamed it on the dehydration. “And don’t get used to it.”

“Maybe it’ll happen again if you go overboard with light magic,” Gon said. 

“My body just needs a tolerance to it. It won’t happen often,” he insisted.

“Yeah, but if your immune system’s compromised, does that mean your liver’s compromised?”

Killua blinked at the closed door before turning his eyes over to Gon. Gon tipped his head curiously as Killua continued to stare at him before whispering, “You mean…? It’s possible, I suppose. I never considered it would have compromised anything else…”

If his liver wasn’t functioning properly, that meant several things: This illness wasn’t just affecting his respiratory tract. If that was the case, this illness was more serious than a simple influenza case. But if it  _was_ just influenza, there was still the chance that the rest of his systems were at risk of being dragged down by the recycling process. 

He didn’t really care all that much about getting drunk, and frankly, he felt like shit as it was. He couldn’t imagine drinking enough to know what being drunk  _felt like_ . 

“I appreciate the sentiment, but I’m not as desperate as Kurapika,” Killua said.

“Okay. But if you decide to test it, I’d keep an eye on you.”

“Thanks, but being drunk doesn’t exactly sound appetizing  _or_ appealing. At least not right now,” he said with a roll of his eyes. “Your hangover kinda ticked that off my list.”

Gon blushed as he whined, “Yeah, but I was crossfaded! That’s not the same thing!”

“What, so now you’re telling me you’re a tequila connoisseur?” Killua teased.

“A wine connoisseur,  _maybe!_ ”

“Come on, you go to a vineyard  _one time—_ ”

“I like merlot! So what?”

“ _God_ , you’re such a suburban mom sometimes,” Killua said, bursting into laughter at the look Gon gave him. He turned away to cough into his arm, still shaking with laughter. When he was able to take a second to breathe, he took a drink of water and said, “Don’t make me laugh.”

“Okay, sorry,” Gon said, a small smile on his lips. He was watching Killua intently with those big, round eyes. Killua didn’t mind the silence, but he wanted to know why Gon was looking at him like that.

He took a bite of the granola bar. “What’re you thinking about?” he asked.

Gon blinked, as if just realizing that he had been staring at Killua. He shifted a little and ended up close enough for Killua to feel the heat radiating from the shoulder he put near Killua’s back. Killua’s breath hitched when Gon hummed thoughtfully, considering his words. 

“I was just thinking…” he said, and Killua braced for the overwhelming sensation of Gon’s finger grazing his neck. Gon placed his hand on Killua’s opposite shoulder, lightly, just enough to ghost over the hem of Killua’s shirt. “How much I like this room.”

Killua snorted. He wasn’t expecting that. “Okay? Weird.”

“Do you know why?” Gon asked, genuinely curious.

“If I knew, I wouldn’t’ve asked in the first place,” he said.

“I like this room because it’s the only place where I just hear… you. Your voice, your breath, your heartbeat—” Gon’s thumb stilled over Killua’s pulse, which had quickened at Gon’s words. “It’s hard to remember what your heartbeat sounds like when we’re outside of this room.”

Killua swallowed and he was certain Gon could feel it with the thumb he grazed across Killua’s throat. “You can… identify heartbeats?” he asked.

“If I focus,” he said. “But I want to be able to identify yours without trying. Can I?” He lowered his hand to Killua’s chest, flattening his palm against it. 

Killua felt his breath rattle in his chest. He nodded, mouth run dry. Gon put pressure on his chest, and Killua took the hint. He finished off the granola bar so he could chuck the wrapper aside and lower himself down onto the pillows. Gon pushed closer, his hand falling to Killua’s flank, his fingers curled into fists over the sheets. There was no way Killua could still his heartbeat when Gon was staring at his chest like that, leaning over him  _like that_ .

Gon put his legs on either side of Killua’s hips and lowered his ear to Killua’s chest. He shifted until his entire weight was settled over Killua, a hand over Killua’s shoulder, and the other hooked under his arm. Killua breathed deeply, the heat from Gon’s body bringing warmth back into his shivering skin. He put his arms over Gon’s shoulders and relaxed.

The minutes ticked by. Exhaustion tugged at Killua’s sore eyelids. He felt as though he had been crying for hours, but even that was a stretch. He rubbed at them, trying to stay awake, but the hand Gon put on his shoulder was rubbing idle circles that threatened to lull him to sleep. He closed his eyes and, eventually, succumbed to it.

 

* * *

 

Kurapika let out a sigh as they opened their messages from Leorio. Evidently, Kurapika had been too far gone to realize that they had even texted Leorio, but thankfully, it was all incoherent typos morphed by autocorrect, so the end result was, “ _I cantb live book was graduation_ .” to which Leorio responded with, “ _Me neither smh_ .”

Chrollo put the car in park in the underground parking structure beneath Kurapika’s apartment complex. It was late enough in the morning that people were starting to leave for the work, which meant that Chrollo couldn’t leave the car. 

“I’ll coordinate with Machi about bringing your car back,” Chrollo said. 

“Yeah, that sounds good,” Kurapika agreed, eyeing a woman across the parking structure as she got into her own vehicle. “You’re lucky my car has especially tinted windows. Do you think your magic has the same effect over video chat?”

“Yes, and through texting,” Chrollo said. 

“You’re kidding. You aren’t kidding. That’s shit luck,” Kurapika commented, shaking their head. They opened their phone contacts before passing the phone to Chrollo. “Text me sometime.”

“I was serious about my deal,” he said, and the implication that Kurapika, therefore,  _wasn’t_ serious had them scowling. 

“Yeah, so am I,” Kurapika said. “Text me sometime.”

Chrollo studied the phone for a moment. Kurapika gave it a little shake, insisting that he add his number to it. He frowned at them with those glittering, silver eyes. With eyes like those and a face like that, it was hard for him to look intimidating.  _He looks like a doll_ , Kurapika thought once again. At least this time, they were aware enough not to say it out loud. The griffin several hours earlier made it impossible for Kurapika to filter that, and they were certain Chrollo would have slapped them upside the head for it. The griffin now, though, just colored their periphery with dazzling lights and warped colors, twisting and swirling in lazy, loopy motions.

Chrollo sighed and took the phone. He added his number before holding it back. Kurapika could see every vein in his arm and blamed it on the griffin for turning them into threads of neon cyan. When Kurapika reached for it, he tugged it back out of reach. “I’d like to try something,” he said. 

Kurapika blinked at him. Logically, they knew what Chrollo was going to suggest, and their fight or flight response kicked back in. “Don’t push it,” Kurapika ground out. 

“It’s not going to change no matter how long we stay in contact,” Chrollo said. “I just want to know if it’s possible.”

“What makes you think it’d be different with me?” they said.

Chrollo lowered his arm to the center console. Kurapika took the opportunity to snatch their phone back. “I don’t know,” he confessed. “There’s something different about you that wasn’t there with the others. I can’t turn my back now without knowing for certain that we could ever…”

Chrollo’s eyes flitted between Kurapika’s. Kurapika knew what he was asking, and when the words came to mind, Kurapika’s thoughts went to Leorio. Kurapika shook their head. “I grazed you before—” they started. 

“And your amygdala still functioned properly,” Chrollo insisted.

“It was just instinct—any dhampir could have done that.”

“But they never did,” he said.

Kurapika brought their eyes up to meet Chrollo’s. Chrollo watched, expression still and impassive, but they could see hope in his eyes. “Even if it worked…” Kurapika started, “I’m… I think I’m in love with someone. I don’t want to abandon that.”

Chrollo studied Kurapika’s eyes for a moment before looking away with an amused huff. “I can respect that,” he said, but before Kurapika could say something, he added, “But if there’s a chance, in all these millennia I’ve been around, then I’m not going to pass it up. Can you respect that much of me?”

“What will you do if it works?” Kurapika whispered. Their hand suddenly itched to open the door and run. The shockwave from the first brush felt impossible to bear a second time, even if it meant proving Chrollo wrong.

“Let’s find out,” he said. He held a hand out to Kurapika. 

Kurapika flinched, every muscle tensing as Chrollo waited. Several millennia without a proper connection with  _anyone_ was bound to make even an ancient being desperate. It explained the knife, which could just as easily be at Kurapika’s back now as it was back then. Something told Kurapika that the knife was just seconds away from appearing.

They pocketed their phone and held a hand up, hovering it shakily over Chrollo’s. They let out a shuddering breath before sucking it back in and holding it for as long as it took for Kurapika to lower the pad of their middle finger to Chrollo’s.

The pulse from it rippled down Kurapika’s arm, searing every cell in their body white-hot. The immediate shockwave was coupled with a gush of cold. For a moment, the sensation seemed to nullify aside from the dizzy, warped edges of Kurapika’s vision, so Kurapika touched their index finger to Chrollo’s.

Kurapika never considered validating their sexual desire. Sex didn’t seem relevant, and they never cared much for it in a general sense. The sensation from Chrollo’s touch, though, flipped on the switch Kurapika always thought was off. 

But after spending years of subduing it, Kurapika knew how to wrangle it in. 

Kurapika clutched at Chrollo’s hand, involuntarily linking their fingers together. They let out the breath they were holding, panting like they had just resurfaced from underwater. Perhaps they  _were_ underwater all this time, but the air was so  _hot_ outside of that safe little bubble. Their skin was tingling and sensitive to the touch, and if they could sweat, Kurapika was certain they would be. 

It was a sensation Kurapika knew they could get over and get used to, and it felt wrong to lie to Chrollo about that much.

“How are you feeling,” Chrollo said. 

Kurapika squeezed their eyes shut. His voice, even if it was completely normal, suddenly sounded breathtaking and husky. If they looked, Kurapika  _knew_ they’d see bedroom eyes even though everything was completely normal if they would just  _let go of Chrollo’s damn hand_ .

“Overwhelmed,” they confessed. “Give me a second.”

“You’re doing well—”

“ _Shut up_ ,” Kurapika seethed. 

God, everything sounded sexual coming out of Chrollo’s mouth right then and there. Like Chrollo was balls deep asking if Kurapika felt okay, like Kurapika had a  _praise kink_ or something, which certainly did  _not_ exist. It was embarrassing even considering having a kink of any kind. 

Kurapika slammed a fist on the door, denting it in one hit. “ _Fuck_ . Okay, I can manage. Say something else.”

“Tell me what you want to hear.”

“ _Don’t_ make it  _sexual_ ,” Kurapika snarled. 

“That wasn’t sexual.”

“Quit being such a tease. Say something normal,” they demanded, face hot and flushed pink. 

“I’d like to take you out on a date sometime.”

Kurapika trembled. It took everything to keep their head from bursting with excitement like a giddy, hormonal grade schooler. Instincts yanked them back to reality and their hand from Chrollo’s light grasp. 

Kurapika shoved the door open and swung out. They tripped leaving, grasping hold of the door to keep from falling. As they caught their balance, Chrollo leant over as if to help, but Kurapika caught him by the wrist to stop him. 

Their eyes met, and Kurapika let out a gasp and said, “I-I don’t know. I’ll think about it.” They dropped Chrollo’s arm and slammed the door shut. 

Kurapika hurried for the apartment door. They stumbled for their wallet, which they shoved up to the card reader. The door buzzed open and the moment they were behind it, it took all their focus not to collapse against it. Their back was still tingling, itchy with scabs, and irritated from the dried, oil-like substance that oozed from the cuts earlier that crusted on their shirt. Kurapika put a hand to their head and paced the elevator entrance, eyes wild. 

Chrollo Lucilfer was an incubus.

As it turned out, Kurapika  _was_ capable of deflecting their human side’s instincts where it counted. Kurapika wasn’t sure if they liked that. They had prided themself on their morality, but at the same time, had spent most of their life masking their humanity purely out of safety. 

Kurapika checked the time on their phone. For a moment, Kurapika was relieved that  _they_ were the one who had Chrollo’s number and not the other way around. They felt guilty for even considering it. Ghosting an ancient being who just wanted a  _goddamn romantic date?_ Kurapika couldn’t blame the guy. A millennia alone would be lonely enough as it was, but  _several_ millennia, stuck with demons like ghouls and pure-blooded vampires? 

That sounded like torture.

Eventually, Kurapika dragged themself to the elevator and up to their floor. With sluggish feet, eyes still shifting and warping the corners of their vision, Kurapika made it to their door and unlocked it. 

They slipped soundlessly inside and locked the door behind them. The seal sucked closed, and Kurapika trailed their eyes over it as they unzipped their jacket. They wondered if it was possible for an incubus to break down a door. They certainly learned a lot about incubi just that night, but not enough to determine the physical strength of one, let alone Chrollo Lucilfer. 

_He wouldn’t break down my door… would he?_ they wondered, putting a finger to their chin. They unlocked the door and locked it again just to be sure. 

“Pika…?” 

Kurapika turned around, chest constricting. The tension, though, dissolved the instantly they saw Leorio in the living room, stretching his arms high over his head. 

Kurapika walked over and tossed their keys on the end table. “Hey,” they said. “Sorry for causing so much trouble.”

“S’fine,” Leorio slurred, a lazy smile on his face. Kurapika couldn’t control the smile on their lips or the giggle that came out. “You’re still high, aren’t you?” he said, amused. 

“A little,” Kurapika confessed. 

They went over to join Leorio on the couch. Knuckle shifted in his sleep, tipping to the side until he was curled up against the armrest. Kurapika claimed the spot on the other side of Leorio and put up the leg rest with a sigh. 

They put their head back against the cushions and looked over at Leorio. Leorio was studying the ceiling, his dark eyes underlined by shadows. That morning, Leorio had bright, shiny gold eyes even though Kurapika knew that they were just a regular, dull brown. 

The living room lost its color in comparison to Leorio’s eyes. 

“Sorry for causing trouble,” Kurapika whispered.

“You already said that,” Leorio said.

“I mean it,” they said, hushed. Leorio turned to look at them, and Kurapika felt a surge of guilt pricking at their throat. They tried to swallow it down as they tipped their head against Leorio’s shoulder.

“You never cease to surprise me. You and your weird supernatural friends,” Leorio confessed, putting his head atop Kurapika’s. “I didn’t know you had an incubus friend.”

“Neither did I,” Kurapika said, shaking their head. “I don’t think I can see him again.”

“You seem sad about it. Why can’t you see him again?” he asked, reaching his arm behind Kurapika. Kurapika melted into the half-hug, curling their knees up alongside Leorio’s.

Kurapika swallowed hard. Suddenly, they couldn’t control their saliva, their breathing, the way they blinked. Nothing felt logical, so they stayed still and stared unblinkingly across the apartment. “Dangerous,” they whispered, and the scabs on their back prickled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am legitimately SO EXCITED for the next chapter. It stresses me out in THE BEST WAY POSSIBLE.


	24. 24 x friendship bracelets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Uvogin's comin' for Knuckle's life AND his manhood. 
> 
> Gon: "If I can't EAT pastries, at the very least I can make KILLUA EAT THEM." Killua, mouth full of pastries: "Wo t."
> 
> Kurapika: "NOBODY PANIC. Everything is fINE." Leorio: "YOU HEARD THEM!! EVERYBODY PANIC!" Kurapika: "Leorio nO—"

A bottle of vodka went spiraling across the lounge. The trajectory and the strength behind the toss spurred on an appreciative whistle from Uvogin, who was posted at the bar with an elbow on the countertop, his chin propped beneath his fist. “You should come to The Big Bang. I’m sure Hisoka doesn’t appreciate you making a mess of his lounge, but I would  _love_ for you to make a mess of my place.”

“What isn’t there to appreciate?” Hisoka hummed, drumming his nails against the bar. He put a hand on his hip and crossed his legs at the ankles. Another bottle shattered, this time, against the lounge window. Thankfully, the windowpane was thick enough to survive the impact. Golden bourbon trickled down the glass. 

Chrollo leant back from the throw, his hand reaching back to the bar for another bottle. Machi slid an empty pinot grigio bottle to his awaiting hand. He took it and flipped it in the air, grabbing it by the neck and following through for an expert toss. 

“I never would have noticed that Kurapika was partly human,” Uvogin commented, letting out a gruff laugh. He rubbed a hand against his chin and shook his head, huffing in amusement. “That little shit covered it up pretty well, huh? How’d you know?” 

“Hm? Me?” Hisoka said, touching a hand delicately to his chest. “A little birdie told me.”

“No shit. Who?”

“Does it matter?” Chrollo said, grunting as he chucked another bottle. This one had weight to it, and it let out a satisfying splash as the liquor splattered across the glass. He relaxed back on his heels, hand dropping to his side. Machi offered another bottle, but Chrollo waved a hand, dismissing it. 

Uvogin whistled again, shifting in his seat. “I’m getting turned on just looking at you.”

“Then stop looking at me,” Chrollo said, pointedly avoiding the lusty gaze Uvogin sent his way. Uvogin, as human as he was werewolf, had just as much self-control as he didn’t. What little self-control he had depended on how long Chrollo could keep from making eye contact. 

Truthfully, Uvogin unnerved him. Chrollo might have been immortal, and he might have a strong background in self-defense and martial arts, but Uvogin was solid muscle and sheer force. If Chrollo so much as slipped around that alpha wolf, he’d have hell to deal with. 

“Aye, aye, sir,” Uvogin sang, turning his eyes over to where Hisoka watched them with a dull, unamused stare. 

Chrollo met Hisoka’s gaze. If Uvogin lost control, Chrollo knew for a fact Hisoka wouldn’t blink twice or hesitate to watch. Machi, on the other hand, he could trust.

“I don’t understand why you invited him,” Chrollo said.

Hisoka rolled his eyes and said, gesturing to Uvogin, “More the merrier. In any case, Uvogin’s hot and heavy for Morel’s kid. You don’t have to worry about him this time around.”

“Ah, that’s right, I should call him,” Uvogin hummed, producing his phone from his pocket.He hopped off of his stool and strode off, but not before turning back and pointing at Chrollo. “I’m a strait-laced gentleman now.”

Uvogin disappeared behind the restroom door. 

Chrollo glowered at the door. He held grudges. Uvogin was far from off the hook. 

“He came close. I’m surprised he’s still sane,” Machi confessed. 

“He came twice,” Hisoka corrected. 

“And he isn’t sane,” Chrollo added in a dry sneer. “If he took it too far—”

“I think it’d be fun to play with psychopathic Uvogin. I’d like to see him try,” Hisoka confessed, folding over the bar with two hands perched under his chin. He tipped his head to the side and smiled devilishly at Chrollo. The magenta light strips overhead glowed against his pallid skin. “If you let him fuck you, I call dibs on the aftermath.” 

“As if Uvogin’s flesh isn’t already sour,” Machi said, disgusted. “Psychopathy isn’t a great seasoning.”

“You don’t know that,” Hisoka hummed, disappointed. He met Machi’s eyes, and Machi rolled her eyes away to where Chrollo took the bottle Machi had laid out several minutes prior. “I’d consider myself a connoisseur of psychopaths. Some of them are quite delectable. Sweet and sour, just how I like it.”

“Is that to say your pet’s on the psychopath spectrum,” Machi said, unconvinced. 

“Sociopathic, perhaps, but with empathetic tendencies.”

“You’re contradicting yourself,” Chrollo said. He reeled his arm back and chucked the bottle forward. He took out one of the chandelier lights, and the bulb popped and sparked before cutting out entirely. The shatter chimed through the lounge. 

“So tell us what happened with your pet,” Hisoka prompted. 

“Like I’d tell you,” Chrollo huffed, reaching for another bottle. He met Machi’s eyes as he grasped the neck of the liquor bottle. Machi studied his eyes for a moment, and he lingered on her before gripping the bottle tighter, yanking it off of the bar. He turned away and said, “Kurapika’s in love with someone. I don’t know who.”

The restroom door opened and Uvogin strode out. “Ah, Leorio perhaps,” he said, rubbing at the front of his jeans. He stopped by the bar, hands on his hips. 

Chrollo would have stared at him if he was an idiot. Instead, he stared at the liquor bottle in his hand, at the reflection of Uvogin warmed on the glass. Uvogin slapped a hand on the counter as he took a seat and explained, “Gon was going on about a guy getting jealous or something when I’d flirt with them. Kurapika got all flustered.”

“Leorio,” Chrollo repeated.

“The Paladiknight restaurant owner,” Machi said. “Decent place. It gathers quite a crowd. The guy became famous for exploding on the Thir13en stage about discrimination against supernaturals at restaurants.”

Uvogin shrugged and said with a sigh, “Honestly, Kurapika’s too much of an intellectual to be with a guy like that. When we worked out together, Gon and Knuckle would tell me crazy stories about the guy. Picks a fight with everyone and everything. It’s like he’s still a pup.”

“Perhaps Kurapika likes the belligerent type,” Machi offered. 

Chrollo unscrewed the cap on the bottle of liquor and took a swig. “I want to visit this  _Paladiknight restaurant_ .”

 

* * *

 

“Hey, Kurapika,” Leorio said at the theatre entrance. Kurapika held the door open for him, since Leorio’s eyes were glued to his phone. “Do you think you could work management tonight?”

Kurapika thought about it. They didn’t have anything planned and, as far as Kurapika knew, neither did Leorio. “Why? Do you have something going on?”

“There’s a special reservation that requests an all vampire staff,” he explained. “They’ve booked the entire back room and bar.”

_That sounds expensive as hell_ , Kurapika thought.  _I’d like to be the waiting staff for that event. I bet tips would be good_ .

“Sure, I can take care of it,” they said.

As they passed the empty ticket podium, Leorio explained the scenario. The reservation required that security be turned off in the back room on top of sealing the hall to the front of house. Every room in the Paladiknight restaurant came equipped with sealable doors and separate ventilation systems to avoid “flavor contamination,” as Leorio called it. Kurapika figured it was more of a werewolf thing than a vampire thing. 

“They requested taking the back entrance, so I’m thinking you could wait out back around the time of their reservation and lead them to the back room. Just text me and I’ll clear out staff until they’ve gone through,” Leorio explained.

“Christ, is this a celebrity or something?” Kurapika snorted, taking Leorio’s phone to read the details. Leorio shrugged as Kurapika scrolled to the top of the party reservation form. 

They froze in the dark hallway to the stairwell. Leorio paused to look back at Kurapika, where the phone illuminated the horror in their expression. Kurapika looked up to meet his eyes and said, “This is my incubus friend.”

“You’re joking,” Leorio said. He marched forward to look closely at the name. “The reservation name is ‘Lucilfer’.  _Lucilfer_ ? Subtle much.”

Kurapika slapped a hand to their forehead and cursed. They never mentioned Leorio’s name  _once_ and on top of that, Chrollo had never made a reservation at the Paladiknight restaurant before that moment. It couldn’t have been a coincidence. 

_But how did he…?_

Hisoka. 

Kurapika could have crushed the phone. Instead, they slapped it against Leorio’s chest on their way to the stairs as they seethed, “ _Oh_ , I’m going to wring that clown’s neck one of these days, I swear to God.”

“Who? Hisoka? I don’t blame you one bit, but I can’t help but ask ‘why’ in this situation,” Leorio said, his footsteps hurrying fast after them. He caught up at the bottom of the stairwell where Kurapika balled their fists up at their sides and resisted the urge to punch a wall. 

_I can deal with this_ , they thought despite the way their arms trembled. Their back was fully healed, but it didn’t stop them from vividly remembering the itchy, irritated sensation of the scabs healing just that morning. It was a miracle they were ever able to heal fast enough to avoid suspicion. It was a miracle that black happened to be their favorite color—it was perfect for covering up vampiric blood. 

Kurapika put a hand to their chin, thinking intently. Leorio glanced down the hall where one of the workers waved to him from the restaurant entrance. Leorio insisted that he’d be in in a second. 

“I think we have a situation,” Kurapika confessed under their breath. “I think I can handle it, but you should probably know that I  _was_ actually kidnapped two nights ago. Gon was right.”

“Are you serious?” Leorio gasped. Kurapika scowled at him, and rather than being outraged, Leorio leant back on his heels with a startled laugh. “Well, If we were betting on it, I guess I owe Gon money. But Killua said you went with a friend?”

“Not initially. We got along somewhere along the way but he’s looking for something longterm,” Kurapika explained. Leorio blinked, not quite grasping it. Kurapika sighed, closing their eyes. Heat flushed to their cheeks as they said, “He wants to take me out on a  _date_ , Leorio.”

“Oh. Oh, Christ, don’t do that,” Leorio said.

“I  _know_ .”

“Holy Mother of God.”

“ _Yeah_ .”

“An  _incubus?_ ”

“Vampires are immune to incubi, but since we derive from demons, he isn’t interested in them. He’s spent the past several millennia  _surrounded_ by demons,” they explained with a sigh. They dropped their voice to say, “Dhampir can resist most of the effects. Touch is where it gets a little complicated, but according to him, I’m the first dhampir who’s been able to touch him without losing my mind.”

“That isn’t grounds for romance!” Leorio screamed. Kurapika slapped their hand over his mouth. 

“I  _know!_ Shut up—I know it isn’t,” Kurapika seethed. “I’m not planning on dating him! But can you imagine spending even  _one_ millennia with lesser demons like vampires and ghouls?!”

“I don’t even want to imagine. Sounds like hell,” Leorio said, voice muffled by Kurapika’s hand. 

Kurapika dropped their arms to their sides with a frustrated huff. They threw their head back and groaned. If they felt guilty  _now_ , Kurapika didn’t want to think about how they’d feel saying it all to Chrollo’s face. They slumped back against the nearest wall and slid down, their white button-up shirt bunching up as they went down. Leorio crouched beside them as Kurapika went over the evidence once more.

Chrollo knowing about the Paladiknight restaurant wasn’t a coincidence, surely, which meant that he had talked to Hisoka about it. It was a slim chance, but perhaps Hisoka was observant enough to know how Kurapika felt about Leorio. Leorio, their best friend and close confidant. They were business partners, after all—running the restaurant to the best of their abilities. 

_I have to assume the worst_ , Kurapika thought.  _I have to assume that Chrollo knows how I feel about Leorio and take precautions to protect him_ .

“ _What will you do if it works?_ ” they had asked, and he deflected the question. All it would take for Chrollo to cut Leorio from the picture would be one second of eye contact.

Kurapika reached for Leorio’s arm and gave him a shake. “You  _can’t_ see him, okay? You may be a lesser demon, but you’re more human than wolf. If he so much as  _looks at you—_ ”

“Hey, hey, I got it. I get the picture,” Leorio said with a grimace. Kurapika sagged to the ground in relief, only to straighten when Leorio spoke again. “Why do you think you’re able to resist incubi magic?”

Kurapika rubbed a hand against their head, ruffling their blonde hair. They rolled their eyes away and sighed, “I have a few theories. The main one being that I might be on the asexual spectrum…”

“Eh?” Leorio blurted, and Kurapika was too embarrassed to look at the face he was making. They could tell just from his voice that this was news to him. 

“It’s my only theory. Theoretically speaking, asexual individuals should be entirely immune to incubi, but I still feel  _something_ when I touched his hand this morning. If my theory’s correct, I’m not  _entirely_ ace. I really don’t know. I don’t… spend enough time thinking about that sort of stuff…”

Hesitantly, Kurapika looked up at Leorio. Leorio put a hand to the arm Kurapika held out to hold onto him. He gave them a pat and said, “I trust you.”

It was all Kurapika needed. They nodded firmly and, with renewed strength, got to their feet. Leorio helped them up and gave their shoulder a tight squeeze. 

 

* * *

 

“Lucilfer, eh? Subtle,” Knuckle said.

“That sounds like a stage name,” Killua said. “For, like, a demonic drag queen or something.”

“Or a stripper, maybe,” Knuckle offered. Killua shrugged.

“ _I appreciate this constant dragging of Chrollo, but I’m nervous for Kurapika’s sake. It sounds like the guy’s, like, a hair’s breadth away from murder_ ,” Leorio said through the phone. 

“I’d be a hair’s breadth away from murder, too,” Gon muttered from the kitchen. Killua looked away from Knuckle’s phone to give Gon a what-the-fuck look. Gon looked up from where he held a bowl of batter against his stomach, stirring it vigorously. He hesitated mid-stir to meet Killua’s eyes. 

Gon flung up the spatula, saying, “What? The guy’s probably lonely and to top it off, the first person he’s ever had a shot at says ‘no’?”

“This doesn’t excuse  _murder_ ,” Killua said.

“Says the ex-assassin,” Gon teased, pouting as he set the bowl aside and went to the fridge. “I’m sure you’ve dealt with jealousy streaks.”

Killua rolled his eyes. “That’s different. I was getting paid to kill cheaters and mistresses back then.”

“I’m just saying: It’s not uncommon,” Gon said. “And  _definitely_ not unheard of. What if Lucilfer kills Leorio?”

“ _Can we stop talking about me being murdered in a jealous rage?_ ” Leorio whined. 

“I don’t know. That’d be kind of cool, like you were killed by the devil incarnate,” Knuckle said, propping his elbow up on the couch cushion. He was sitting on the floor just to the left of Killua, who he looked up at with a smile. 

“ _I don’t like that one bit_ ,” Leorio huffed. “ _Which isn’t to say I wouldn’t go down with a fight. I would absolutely fight._ ”

“I’d expect nothing less,” Knuckle said. 

As Leorio went on to rant about Chrollo Lucilfer and his proposal to date Kurapika, Killua blew his nose into a tissue. It sounded as though Leorio was oblivious to Kurapika’s affections for him, which meant that the odds of fighting Chrollo were low.  _But there’s the chance that Chrollo knows about it_ , Killua thought, getting up from the couch to toss the tissue away.

He shuffled to the kitchen where the oven chimed. Gon was pouring batter into small bread pans when Killua approached, arms crossed over his chest. He tipped his head curiously to the side as he read the title of the recipe off of the book Gon had open on the counter. As far as he knew, Kurapika hadn’t baked a day in their life.

“It’s odd that Kurapika keeps so many human things here,” Killua confessed. “Don’t you think?”

“I think it’s sweet,” Gon said. “And I haven’t baked in a while, so this is exciting. This oven has  _never_ been used. Not even  _once_ .”

“Unfortunate that baking is limited to the human species,” Killua said, voice stuffy. When Gon opened the oven, warmth spread out from it and engulfed Killua in its heavy, all-encompassing embrace. He stood off to the side of the oven as Gon stuck the bread batter in one loaf at a time and, when the door closed, he went to stand in front of it to warm his chilled legs. It made the rest of his body cold until Gon leant into his front and wrapped his arms around Killua’s shoulders. 

Killua grinned, letting the stubble on Gon’s jaw rub against his own cheek. He laughed a little when Gon started to purposefully rub his face up and down against Killua’s. 

“Gon’s putting his scent on Killua as we speak,” Knuckle whispered across the apartment, his hand cupped over the mic on his phone. 

Killua’s expression soured. He glowered at Knuckle as Gon leant away to look back at the alpha, who was snickering into the phone, saying, “ _They’re so cute—_ ” 

“Knuckle!” Gon whined, narrowing his eyes at Knuckle. When he turned back around, his eyes were level with Killua’s. The realization of this smacked Killua upside the head a split second later.

“Wait, Gon—” Killua started, putting his hands to Gon’s shoulders. He pushed Gon back and wound up having to pry Gon’s hands off of his waist. 

Killua sifted his attention across the whole of Gon. The change wasn’t obvious, and Gon was no where  _near_ as “filled out” as Knuckle or Leorio. His limbs were still scrawny, but “stocky” was no longer the word Killua would give him. He was just  _lanky_ due to the malnutrition that made every last one of his ribs visible, and made his cloths fit so loosely. 

“I think you got taller,” he said. 

Gon looked down at himself. He wiggled his toes and said, “I thought I was just sore from working out with Knuckle.”

“No, you  _definitely_ grew more,” Killua said. 

Gon held his arms out and, likewise, took Killua’s hands with him. “More surface area,” he said. 

Killua couldn’t imagine a reality in which Gon would be taller than him, but judging from the two alphas he’d seen and the entirity of Knuckle’s pack, it seemed being under 5’11” wasn’t an option for werewolves. To top it off, Gon’s messy bedhead already put him over Killua’s height. 

While Killua’s brain malfunctioned, Gon set the timer for the bread and Knuckle got up from the ground with a groan, like he was an elderly old man with arthritis and bad joints. Knuckle waved his phone at them and said, “I’m gonna go check on Leorio and Kurapika. If you feel like going out later, we’ll be at Paladiknight.”

“Okay, Gon still has to try beaver so we’ll be over there after the bread is done,” Killua said. 

“I don’t wanna eat a beaver,” Gon muttered, stuffing the bag of flower into the cupboard. 

Knuckle reached over the counter to ruffle Gon’s hair with an amused laugh. Gon swatted his hand away in annoyance—it was the first time Killua ever saw Gon resist a pat on the head. Knuckle seemed to notice it, too, and looked at Killua with a low whistle. “Teenagers and their rebellious streaks,” Knuckle said. 

“I’m not rebelling!” Gon shouted, but Knuckle merely whistled an idle tune as he laced up his sneakers. “I’m not! Here, pat my head again—”

Killua caught him by the back of his shirt. “He’s just messing with you,” Killua said, smothering his amusement before Gon could see it. Gon turned back around with a pout that reminded Killua of every time he couldn’t say no to Gon. It turned his insides to warm mush, pliable in every way Gon wanted him to be.

And maybe that was a bad thing. Maybe, Killua fell too hard and trusted too fast. Their friendship was by happenstance, but became unbreakable in a mere few hours. Once again, Killua wondered how he could have possibly stayed away as long as he had. 

The overwhelming urge to apologize stilled Killua in his tracks. The grudge he swore to uphold surged with it, stopping him from getting down on his knees and begging for Gon’s forgiveness, as if their friendship was on the line because of his stupidity. He ran away when he should have— _could have—_ stayed. Did Gon not think of that?

Killua opened his mouth to ask.

The apartment door shut and sealed behind Knuckle. 

Gon’s hands reached for Killua’s wrists then, pulling him forward as he asked, “Can I kiss you now?”

Killua was so startled by the abrupt question that instinctively he said, “Yes,” because he could never even dream of wanting to say no. 

Gon’s lips crushed against his, the force pushing Killua back into the counter with a gasp. He held his lips firmly to Gon’s despite the shock, an excited shiver traveling up his arms where Gon’s fingers grazed, his thumbs passing over his wrists, the inside of his elbows, the tight muscles of his biceps. Gon took his bottom lip between his, tugging with his teeth as Killua took in a sharp, excited breath and moaned out, “ _Fuck_ .”

Gon kissed his chin and licked underneath it. Killua tipped his head back, his hands clutching at the edge of the counter as Gon’s lips traveled down the column of Killua’s throat. He couldn’t stop his heart from racing or his skin from overheating no matter how hard he tried to keep his cool, but then Gon’s hands were at his waist, tugging at the hem of his sweater. 

Gon made quick work of disposing of it. When Killua’s head resurfaced, Gon laid a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss on his lips, his tongue dragging across Killua’s bottom lip until Killua leant back for air. He couldn’t breathe, not when every part of him was so invested in holding his breath and holding onto the feeling of Gon’s swelteringly hot hands warming every inch of skin he touched.

Gon put his hand over the noticeable bulge on the crotch of Killua’s sweatpants. His nerves jolted at the touch, his skin prickling as Gon met his eyes. 

“I-I’m sick,” Killua argued weakly. 

“It’s not contagious.”

Killua narrowed his eyes, only temporarily capable of rational thought. “You aren’t a doctor.”

Gon gave him a squeeze and Killua’s knees nearly gave out. He cursed under his breath before Gon said the one thing that should have shot his soul straight out of his body and to the moon. “I’m not, but I still want to take care of you. Say ‘no’ and I’ll stop.”

Killua swore again. There he was, in a situation he never would have thought possible just a month prior. It was nearly too much for him to handle, but he rose to the challenge and pulled Gon forward with a hand under his jaw and said, “ _Don’t stop_ .”

 

* * *

 

Meanwhile, across Yorknew in the supernatural hotbed of the city, a black car pulled up.  _Kurapika’s_ black car, to be exact. Kurapika sent a swift message to Leorio, warning him and, likewise, the rest of the staff of what was to come.

Kurapika had their forearms folded against the small of their back as they watched the doors all open and four familiar faces stepped out. Kurapika’s eyes lingered on the burly alpha who threw his arms up and said, “Long time no see!”

“U-Uvogin?” Kurapika stammered, which was promptly followed by the thought,  _He was in my car?_

The driver’s door shut as Uvogin wrangled Kurapika in for a tight hug. Kurapika groaned and muttered, “I’m working, Uvo…”

“Not tonight.” 

Kurapika stiffened in Uvogin’s arms at the sound of Chrollo’s voice beside their car. Uvogin stepped aside, an arm securely around Kurapika’s shoulders as they took in the scene of Thir13en’s two ghouls and Chrollo Lucilfer, all donning dress shirts and slacks. Kurapika could hardly believe that she was seeing Hisoka in anything other than a borderline clown costume, but then they stopped at the florescent pink heels he wore and took it back. 

Chrollo stepped up to them. Kurapika swallowed hard, grateful that their heart couldn’t give away the mix of terror and excitement that turned their muscles into pudding. Chrollo flicked a hand at Uvogin then, dismissing him from Kurapika’s side as he said, “You’re joining us tonight.”

Kurapika stared at him—those perfect, doll-like eyes and up to his exposed incubus mark on his forehead. For a moment, Kurapika forgot that there were three other people standing around waiting for them to get a move on. 

They blinked and returned to the moment. “We’ll see. Right this way,” they said, taking the lead into the building.

They descended the stairwell to the back of the restaurant, past the kitchen door, and along the row of storage rooms that radiated magic. It was always odd passing through their own magic—it felt both familiar and foreign to Kurapika, and as they thought of it, Hisoka spoke up.

“Something smells like you. I can’t imagine you practice regular dismemberment,” he drawled from behind Chrollo. 

Kurapika shuddered at the idea. Dhampirs, like vampires, could regenerate limbs. The more limbs a dhampir regenerated, the less physically durable they were. It would, however, provide the restaurant with enough hands for ghoul desserts. They glanced back to say, “No, I don’t. You’re probably sensing my magic. I’m one of two sorcerers that maintain the space compressor.”

“Space compressor?” Chrollo repeated. 

“I learned enough dark magic to manipulate space,” they explained. “There are compressed pockets of space in the pantries that house entire farms to fuel the werewolf population that comes through here. We have workers on the farms twenty-four hours a day.”

“You learned it just for this restaurant?” he commented, falling in step beside Kurapika. 

Kurapika sensed the implication, and there was no point in lying. “I did,” they said. 

They walked the party of four into the back room. The room was quiet now that the front entryway had been sealed, and they passed the bartender on the way—the only other person in the room at that time. Kurapika took four menus from the bartender and walked the party over to the circular corner booth.

“Hisoka and I are just here for the bar,” Machi said. “I think Uvogin’s planning on getting laid tonight, so you don’t need to worry about him.”

“Guilty,” Uvogin said. 

Kurapika pulled the menus back from the table and turned to Chrollo, who smiled and gestured to the smaller booth beside it.  _I’ve been played. Well done_ , Kurapika thought, however miserably. They sighed. “Fine, then. I’ll join you.”

Kurapika dropped three of the menus at a nearby table and slid the last one over to Chrollo before taking a seat across from him. As they went, Hisoka and Machi claimed spots at the bar at the far side of the room, and Uvogin was quick to escape out through the front sealed door. The moment the door shut, Chrollo spoke.

“I wasn’t expecting to find you here, let alone waiting on us.”

“Leorio needed a vampire on management tonight,” they explained. “He’s the owner of the restaurant. Generally he takes care of management, but werewolves and incubi don’t mix. Which brings me to the question of your relationship with Uvogin.”

“Shaky at best,” he answered. “I’ve made the mistake of eye contact once before.”

“Ah,” Kurapika hummed. They drummed their fingers on the tabletop, watching as Chrollo scanned the drink list before setting it at the end of the table. 

He pushed it closer to Kurapika. “Order whatever you like. I take it your drinks get pretty pricey.”

“You’d be surprised,” Kurapika sighed. They lifted up the menu and shook their head. “I have a stash of blood from a friend back at home. Other than that…”

“Have you ever tasted incubus blood before?” he asked. Kurapika shook their head. “It’s most often used as an aphrodisiac. With magic you can make a person believe you’re their soulmate.”

“That’s a lie,” Kurapika snorted.

“I’m serious.”

“Yeah, and what do you make of the legend about how incubi were made?” Kurapika teased. Chrollo tipped his head to the side questioningly. They propped their chin on their hand and said, “That you were all sexual deviants marked by God to roam the earth for eternity.”

“Close but not quite. Cursed to roam the earth for eternity, waiting for a being that makes them feel human again,” he said. Kurapika lowered their hand from their chin. “I’ve psychoanalyzed myself enough times over to know that my appreciation for mankind stems from it.”

“Chrollo…” Kurapika sighed. It wasn’t a wistful sigh, by any means, and Kurapika winced at the tone of it. 

“I know you love Leorio Paladiknight,” Chrollo said. Kurapika stared at him and wondered if he could see the shift in their demeanor, as if Kurapika was two seconds away from tackling him if he took a step out of the booth and anywhere near the front hallway. 

A still silence passed that broke at the sound of two bar glasses clinking on the bar counter. Kurapika sat back in their seat, cheeks pink, and hoped to God the bartender didn’t hear that. 

“Which is why,” Chrollo started, drawing Kurapika’s attention back. He leant forward and said, “I want you to rescind your seventy-five year pact.”

“Wh-What?” Kurapika startled, eyes wide. 

Chrollo’s eyes flitted between Kurapika’s. They tensed, throat strung tight as they pieced together what it meant to step back on their plan to end their life in seventy-five years. By then, they would have lived the lifespan of a healthy human. They’d be at the end of an average werewolf’s lifespan. It was a rough estimate, granted, but seventy-five years seemed tolerable. 

“I’ll come back to you in seventy-five years,” Chrollo said. “I’m impatient, but three quarters of a century is the blink of an eye if you’re there at the end of it. Do we have a deal?”

Kurapika’s chest felt heavy from the warm, fluttering sensation swelling through them. They bit their lip and studied the sincerity in Chrollo’s quiet eyes. Their throat felt too tight for words, so they nodded once, then twice, and at last, could speak. “Yeah. Yes, that sounds excellent, thank you.”

Chrollo laughed, settling back in his seat. “No need to be so formal.”

Kurapika laughed, feeling giddy despite the fact that they had come no where  _near_ close enough to Chrollo to warrant such a feeling. They supposed the giddiness was their own design this time around. 

They waved the waiter over and the two of them ordered drinks. They talked over the rim of their designated beverages until the glasses were empty and Chrollo ordered seconds. They confessed to things they had never done—for Kurapika, drink the entire weight of a human, and for Chrollo, been on a rollercoaster. Kurapika went into an uproar over the rollercoaster, to which Chrollo responded, “I’m not waiting two hours in line surrounded by humans. It’s the making of an apocalypse—surely you understand.”

Kurapika threw their head back and laughed. Before Kurapika knew it, they had spent nearly three hours talking. Hisoka and Machi had left over an hour ago, and Uvogin was nowhere to be seen. The waiter came over to let Kurapika know that they would be closing soon. They checked their watch with a note of surprise before thanking their coworker and rising from the seat. 

Chrollo followed them. Kurapika waited as Chrollo left a tip at the table and went to pay Hisoka and Machi’s bar tab. Kurapika leant against the bar stool next to him and said, “Let me know if you come by here again.”

“I think it’s best if I stay away for the time being,” he confessed, sliding the receipt over to the bartender. “I have been known to make rash decisions. You should live your life now before I interfere again.”

Kurapika nodded, arms crossed. Chrollo turned to them then and said, “Text me, though. I still don’t have your number.”

“Oh! Right, sorry,” Kurapika squeaked, reaching for their phone.

Chrollo stopped them with a hand on theirs. Kurapika stilled eyes wide at the image of Chrollo’s pale hand against their own. Their skin tingled, heat flooding through them as they looked up to Chrollo. Their cheeks were flushed as Chrollo said, “It doesn’t have to be now. I’m impatient for an immortal, but—”

“You run on a different timeline. Got it,” Kurapika breathed. They lowered their hand, folding their fingers over Chrollo’s. Immortals had all the time in the world. Kurapika knew of vampires who spent days sleeping and called it a single night. They knew vampires so ancient that it took them minutes just to cross a room because no matter how slow they went, they would reach the end. Eventually. 

Kurapika let out a shuddering breath as Chrollo leant forward and pressed his lips to their forehead. They closed their eyes, trembling, every muscle in their body wound tight with  _want_ . It was a feeling they had never experienced before that moment. 

With that, Chrollo leant away and said, “I’ll see you again someday.”

“Yeah, okay,” Kurapika sighed. When Chrollo turned his back on them, they put a hand to their forehead where Chrollo had kissed them. They pushed their bangs back with a huff, staring at the spot where Chrollo disappeared, out of view. 

Later that night, when Kurapika returned to the back of the theatre in search of their car, they found a note on the driver’s seat that read, “ _Give Leorio my best_ .  _-CL_ .”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lowkey this is the end. Lowkey, I have an actual novel to finish writing so I slapped this ending together this morning so I no longer feel responsible for it lol BUT if I write more, I'll be posting it in a separate fic and make a Supernatural AU collection. Considering how GON AND KILLUA ENDED it'd probably end up mature anyway and I wanna keep this fic PG-13. 
> 
> @ me on [Tumblr](https://girlskylark.tumblr.com/) or [Twitter](https://twitter.com/sarahjeancorner?lang=en)! The novel I'm finishing up is on [Wattpad](https://www.wattpad.com/user/sarahjeancorner) and it's about soccer lesbians and an all-women's international syndicate lol


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